Earlybird poem

Let it begin.

As I have in the past, I'll be loosely following the prompts on the official NaPoWriMo site (www.napowrimo.net ). This poem is in response to yesterday's "earlybird" prompt to write a haibun (a prose poem that ends in a haiku)--and, quite unintentionally, it contains an actual early bird.

Cold Spring, 2017

Winter keeps the tail of March between forefinger and thumb. The snow is gone, but we can’t shake the habit: boots and coats, chili and heated van seats. Watery sky is crisscrossed with sycamore skeletons and flocks of starlings that turn on a dime. The crocuses are bullets waiting to fire. As usual, the housecats don’t care. Dawn is pale blue; coffee, at least, is hot. Outside

one bird scratches the

fat glossy silence, early

for choir practice.