the bird is not chirping today;
he is all hunched and fluffed
and hiding one foot in his feathers.
he looks cold and tired
and slightly grouchy
outside is miserable wind
slush turning to ice and back again
the constant spindly bareness of trees
an unpleasant day marked by grey
and the sounds of cars going by
i feel the same as the bird,
who can't be bothered to sing
and only wishes to nest quietly
breathing slowly and ignoring the day.