Snowbirds flit
From feeder to feeder,
Biding their time,
Waiting to return
North.
Tanned and idle
Retirees join them,
Counting the days
Until real spring.
Escaping the frigid
North strands
Us in places
Familiar,
Yet unknown.
We gather around
Shared origins,
Watching for license
Plates and
College sweatshirts.
Sense of place
Unites us all,
Like the spider
Web it maps.
Categories: Poetry