(not the Weather Man)
The Meteorologist said,
(with data to prove it)
that the wind would blow
and the snow would fall -
5 centimeters in the lower Valley.
The air was full of birds -
What the meterologist said had
reached their tiny ears.
In the fields a flock of starlings
(close to two hundred)
spread out over the bottom of the pasture
and worked their way to the top,
diligently bobbing, greedily feasting
on worms, or bugs, or beetles.
a gift of Spring.
Two dozen blackbirds chattered
in the trees next door,
suddenly falling silent as three crows
came swooping by
and taking up their story again
as the cawing disappeared in the distance.
A flock of geese rose up from the river,
circled twice around the valley
and eventually headed west by north-west
off to the northern lakes.
The robins, quiet and genteel,
searched out their own dinner
around the bottom of the apple trees -
quite oblivious to the thirty seven shiny black crows
that cawed rudely through the tops of the walnut trees
while the hunter went looking
for his blunderbuss....
Tonight the meteorologists, abashed,
enjoy the fine weather........
Windless, snowless, a gentle rain.
I hear the garden sighing with pleasure.
Or perhaps that is the meteorologists
Post Script
It is four a.m.
I waken to the sound of the wind,
ferociously circling the house,
slipping under the open window,
rippling across the bed,
assaulting my nose.
I hear the Meteoroligist's
self satisfied chuckle.
But this morning the sun is shining
and there is no snow....
