Friday, February 20, 2015

Of Leaving Pieces

Understand this: that love is a religion
of birds, of restlessness, of flight.
Of moving somewhere warmer 
when the cold sets in,
of longing, of leaving, of being
the one left behind, of feathers,
of an empty nest in the heart of winter,
nestled in some firm elbow of brittle branches
that stopped reaching for the sky when the last
leaf fell, bleak against a landscape of
blacks and whites and greys save for one
little piece of red string,
tucked lovingly among the twigs,
so dutifully gathered, piece by piece,
by a creature who had seen winters before,
but made a home for himself here anyway.

~ this-epiphany,

I decided to share something "different" with you today. I saved this poem from several years ago. It's one of my "winter favorites". There's something about an empty nest in winter that stirs feelings of loneliness, of longing; but also of anticipation, of new things to come, of downy feathers and heads bobbing in a full nest, of restoration...


  1. Lovely poem and image, Susan! I like the thought of new things to come! Have a happy weekend!

  2. What a beautiful post Susan. The poem is lovely, and whenever I find an empty nest, I feel quite maternal, and am filled with wonder at the intricacy of the woven twigs, feathers, and yes, sometimes little pieces of string or thread.. Anyone who appreciates the beauty of our fine feathered friends, must then appreciate their homes made with such love and care.

  3. a beautiful poem and a very pretty image!! i like versatility in the blogs i visit!!!