April, come she will.

We went out walking with Aryeh this evening and came across a flight of Cedar Waxwings in the neighbor's crab apple tree. I wrote this virelay for them a few years back while I was at my aunt Bev's place in Alymer. 

The Waxwings

The swivel-wind was swaying

oceans in the sky, graying.

Spruces blew,

their wide voices saying

we are all in time, changing.

We are you.

There were children playing,

waxwings on the wind ranging—

songs we knew.

Scylla rolled all through—

carpeting the thicket blue.

It started raining.

When I turned with you,

a rouge ray, the waxwings too,

broke straining

from the stormed hues

of stone-colored cloud and flew,

feathers flaming.