A Song of Winter

The song of the Sparrow and the Titmouse harken from above in barren branches.

A heralding of what’s in store upon first foot prints outside the door.

They sing the story which unfolded, before their eyes as winter took hold.

“We woke just before daylight to welcome the sun with song

When the drizzle that travels in the air landed all about, this morning took a different shape.” Sung the Titmouse.

“It’s in the breeze from which it came, it seems to have turned another shade.

It no longer longer blows the turning leaf from the branches high, it transformed the mist about into a sparkle in the eye.” Sung the Sparrow.

“So gently it fell,” the Titmouse sung hushed.

“How captivating,” the Sparrow amazed.

And indeed what lay before me is winter claiming its season.

The spring born song birds capture its tale in their morning melody.

And soon their tune will turn anew as the sun turns the frost back to dew.

Then again when winter shows all of its glory. Nature tells the never ending story.