halftwo
Wird Batcher
After the storms, after the rains that blew in through the solstice, on the darkest days, this morning from the wet-eyed winter wood, still dark, a Song thrush rang. Defiant bells in the depths.
Later the lately hidden sun broke from a rainbow sky and the short day briefly bright. And from the valley side the fruity throat of a Mistle thrush lobbed plummy notes, rich and round, that dosed the air with spirit, as if beckoning the spring.
And though the sleety squall squeezed out the short dawn the memory of song remains.
Later the lately hidden sun broke from a rainbow sky and the short day briefly bright. And from the valley side the fruity throat of a Mistle thrush lobbed plummy notes, rich and round, that dosed the air with spirit, as if beckoning the spring.
And though the sleety squall squeezed out the short dawn the memory of song remains.