Whenever my peripheral vision
catches sight of that familiar flash of color,
I know the special visitor has arrived. 
I run to my window and never greet him. 
Just watch him, silently, in awe of his perfection,
inconspicuously. 
You see, 
Sometimes a glorious peacock graces 
my verbena and rose garden with its presence. 
It struts around proudly, with its trail of feathers,
judging the terrain, with those inky goblets. 
Sometimes it pecks its beak on earth
to wriggle out worms for lunch. 
Sometimes it has company. 
The cobalt blue and the earth-hued mingle,
gliding over glass blades, each movement so elegant
Their coarse voices produce a  delicious cacophony.
Other times, it stands still on the wall. 
And when a light breeze gives its feathers a gentle shudder. 
It flies away.
But remembers to come back again.