East Window
by Mary Biber

Out the east window, a juniper waves, frantically signaling a strong south wind. The sky blushes lilac. Across the creek, a bare branched sycamore's lacework dome swells above the bamboo copse. The jet-black beadwork on its white limbs startles into a host of small dark birds. As one body they rise through the bright cold light to tumble through the air caroling our a call of surprise. A wash of gold sunlight transforms the window to a block of blinding brilliance erasing all but the memory of the view.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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