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mjgalerPoems
A frosted window overlooks a land. Dimly lit, white streets ant-like homes arranged in neat rows. Beyond the homes lies a moonlit, bottomless sea. I watch it heave and turn beneath the moon, carrying night toward day. Early each morning when I sip hot coffee I peer out at the chilly sun. A small smear swings high and sings. But the song it sings is not familiar to me - a mechanical keen, a howling note no other bird will answer. The crows ignore it. Swallows scatter and flee when the odd bird draws near as though it were a hawk. It screams overhead, and I step back. I see it soar for just a moment: The sleek head cowled in gunmetal gray, screeching past and away, close enough to rattle glass. But deeper still there is a face behind black eyes, behind the hardened shell. A human face that seems to smile - or do I only hope it does? Does the pilot see me too, a figure at a frosted window, or am I just landscape passing below? Still, a greeting - wings waggling, dipping, then gone below blue sky, beyond the hills to wherever it goes. Tomorrow, I know, I will stand here again with my coffee growing cold, and we will both say hello like distant friends.
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Jan 17
Jan 17, 2026 at 6:12 AM UTC
Morning Visitor
A frosted window overlooks a land. Dimly lit, white streets ant-like homes arranged in neat rows. Beyond the homes lies a moonlit, bottomless sea. I watch it heave and turn beneath the moon, carrying night toward day. Early each morning when I sip hot coffee I peer out at the chilly sun. A small smear swings high and sings. But the song it sings is not familiar to me - a mechanical keen, a howling note no other bird will answer. The crows ignore it. Swallows scatter and flee when the odd bird draws near as though it were a hawk. It screams overhead, and I step back. I see it soar for just a moment: The sleek head cowled in gunmetal gray, screeching past and away, close enough to rattle glass. But deeper still there is a face behind black eyes, behind the hardened shell. A human face that seems to smile - or do I only hope it does? Does the pilot see me too, a figure at a frosted window, or am I just landscape passing below? Still, a greeting - wings waggling, dipping, then gone below blue sky, beyond the hills to wherever it goes. Tomorrow, I know, I will stand here again with my coffee growing cold, and we will both say hello like distant friends.
#morning#routine#bird#nature#winter#friendship
Written by
mjgaler
Jan 17
Jan 17, 2026 at 6:12 AM UTC
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