Winter’s Feathered Dance

The onset of winter brings a quiet magic, a stillness that envelops the world and invites us to notice the smaller, gentler moments around us. One such foggy day, I found myself captivated by the lively presence of sparrows in the garden. Some fluttered around the bird feeder, others splashed joyfully in the bird bath, while a few pecked at the grass or perched on the parapet. Their playful energy and simple existence were a balm to the soul, a reminder of the beauty in life's fleeting moments.

This haiku captures that serene yet vibrant scene, inviting the reader to pause and savor the harmony of nature as it dances with the changing season.

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Winter's feathered dance

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha

Lustrous divine

Rainy monsoon dawn,

the terra soaked in love,

flitting, chirping birds, 

squeaking squirrels,

and fresh fragrant air. 

Everything glistening, 

pristine, intimate and open.

And there,

in the corner of the lawn,

two zestful friends,

a tiny little robin and

a naughty little chipmunk,

happily breaking their fast,

hungrily bent over

a small black tray,

filled with coarse grains, 

dampened with downpour. 

Synchronously,

turn by turn, 

a peck, then a nibble,

then a peck again.

To the casual eye, 

trifling wild things eating in harmony. 

But if you look closely,

'tis the lustrous divine.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Sunup songs

Birds flutter, greens dance

to symphonic sunup songs,

resonant reggae.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

The eventide

The eventide.
That return to the nest,
the dull ache of pendencies,
the weariness of struggles,
the paused turmoils,
the sweat, blood and tears,
all melting,
rather dissolving in
the rustle of fallen leaves in lawn,
the ricocheting laughters indoors,
 the pestering, the tantalizing tease,
the boomerang zealous zest.
The elixir of this life,
that embalming smile on your face.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

The flight of birds

Early dawn.
I hear the singing birds,
gliding, soaring, weaving
through the blue expanse.
And I wonder,
if they can
judge the kilometers they have flown?
Do they know the places like us?
Like Mandi. Hisar. Ludhiana!
Do they see the boundaries we have drawn on maps?
The directions, the longitudes, the latitudes,
do they know about them?
Or is it just a big brown earth for them?
Those primal beings,
are they on a flight of purpose,
or is it just an aimless trifle?
Mesmerizing. Breathtaking. Uplifting. Enlightening.
Small birds. Impressive flights.
Mighty contemplations.

Linking with Sammi Cox Weekend Writing Prompt #115 Judge