Winter Wings

My boots break through drifts
within the piney grove,
where air breathes cold as mint,
bird eyes glint,
feathers shiver round me.
In moonlight, pine boughs strain
to the weight of starlings
seeking refuge in the hundreds.

I shout a plume of mist
and scare the flock to flight --
birds stampede the sky,
dark shining wings whipped
like leaves into a swirling cyclone.
A thousand oiled feathers
brush musk upon my coat,
chirps skim my ears,
snowflakes, stirred to frenzy,
melt fresh upon my lips.

The breathing, beating vortex
lifts me above the trees,
across fields of grass swept
asleep beneath the drifts.

Scott Speck
06/20/99