There was an actual bird in the yard today.


It landed on top of one of the dead aspens.


A desiccated looking creature with no feathers on its head.


It may have been an evening grosbeak, a male,


its underbelly practically golden,


but with a horrendously large, bloody-red colored beak.


There’s no precipitation anywhere—


the poor thing leapt from the tree


and pecked at a withered crabapple


which had been on the ground for years.


I went out with a saucer of recycled water


and frightened the fragile creature who


flew quickly to what it presumed was safety


in the reflection of my sliding glass door.