The Ruffled Hawk



The ruffled hawk eyeing me
across the flat winter landscape
must know I am not palatable prey
as we both steel ourselves against
the clould of snow dust bedeviling us.

I feel its icy fingers
creep inside my collar
with a delicious chilled shiver
and do not begrudge him
his down feathered cloak.

The humming wind sparks fire
in the swirling cloud
that enfolds us in its grasp.
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Love, Jody