Putting Out the Feeders

Putting Out the Feeders

by Elizabeth McCarthy

No feeders this November, it was too mild

to hang them and expect anything but drama

in a month with gray skies and sticks for trees.

Where bugs and dried seeds are plentiful

for birds to scratch and feed, when bears

forage and fatten on fall’s fallen fruit.

Bringing us to early December, our feeders

still sitting on the cellar shelf, hiding

since last April when the bears woke up,

Pilfering black oil seeds meant for little birds,

the nuthatch, chickadee, sparrow and finches,

the ones that stayed through storms in spring.

Now the bears have left and gone to sleep,

we safely hang the seed filled feeders

and wait for the return of our flitting birds 

That come when things are bleakest

and cold snows of winter close in

as we look for that thing with feathers.*

*“Hope” is the thing with feathers

by Emily Dickinson