FalconChristmas
No
words describe a heart so sore in need of love, to be so glad a
bird’s alive and living in the shades of time. She still comes
when eye call her but my whistle is a paroday not a shrill bird call
and yet somehow she knoes me and comes out from her warm place to dip
her wings and glide in happiness with Jesus in her heart. She went
from tree to tree flirting with the eye, staying close to the trail
eye always use on SUNDAY morn. So wonderful a bird not even fully
grown in fact eye mistook her for a yearling perhaps her offspring
eye thought it was her daughter there, come to visit mee a new and
thoughtful creature but she was only closing up her tail feathers to
mabe keep her warmer in the cold of Christmas Winter there was frost
out in the Desert. She looked so much larger on the wing Spreading
all her feathers she must knoe it makes my heart sing to see her safe
and dry. A Bitter Colder Better Christmas Warmer now and closer to
Nirvana. A Falcon Christmas. Still Alive.
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