The Wren from Carolina

Papa Wren

feathers 
the color of
peanut butter
spread on toast,
with whopping 
songs 
bursting forth
like water
wildly tumbling
over rocks,
he flits
to and fro
wielding a fearsome
beak,
perfect for
spearing spiders,
caterpillars, 
crickets,
in tangled thickets
often nesting in 
uncanny 
places,
old coat pockets
or boots left
by the barn
door,
now never 
worn till
his fledglings
fly.

I went outside trying to snag a shot of a tiny baby bunny, but it scampered off when I closed the door. I stayed out for a while, watching the orioles and a hummingbird feeding. Papa Wren arrived to snack and pack his beak with dried mealworms, perhaps for his mate sitting on eggs. They move and flit about so fast, I was lucky to get one shot in focus.

For the Record, 
This day came in with clouds and a heavy rainstorm for a few minutes, then back to cloudy light.

All hands hoping for some sun.