So much depends on
the singing of a bird on
a cold winter's day.
Green Bean two days after my last trip to Chicago.
He gets upset every time I leave him for more then a night and chews his feathers until he's naked.
His feathers are finally starting to come back in.
After my transplant the only feathers he had left were the ones he couldn't reach on his head.
It's rough being little and green.
The poem is something I wrote soon after I got my first bird 20 years ago.