The first one

In the midst

Of a quiet

So simple,

but sufficient,

Another day unfolds . . .

Flowers have been gently

Watered,

And their fragile colors blend,

Somehow –

As a soft echo

With the baby clouds

In the morning Tennessee sky . . .

I sip patiently

My morning tea,

And wait

For the birds to arrive –

Joyfully congregating

Above, and

Below

Our trusted, little feeder pagoda . . .

And there he is: The First One,

A magnificent red-spangled cardinal . . .

A perfect compliment

To the pale white and pink colors

Of the wee flowers

My wife has planted

In the hanging baskets

Arrayed mere feet away . . .

Mr. K.