by Ethel Mortenson Davis
in my net.
I untangled him —
eyes true and bright,
magnificent iridescent feathers,
and a warm beating heart
that stayed in my hand
as I threw him up into the air
so he could
continue his flight
across the universe.
A Miltonian Caudet Sonnet
by Thomas Davis
They crawled out from their canvas tent and stared
At stumps still littered through the opening
Their two man saw had cut into the spring-
Deep twilight made by woods so thick they dared
An axe to fell a wilderness that flared
Across so many miles no bird could wing
Its way to planted orchards blossoming
Into the dream the couple, logging, shared.
So tired she barely kept her head upright,
The woman started up the morning fire.
She sighed to see the stumps that made the field
Look strange inside the early morning light,
An emptiness surrounded by the choir
Of birds in trees where she in silence kneeled.
“The canopy is peeled
Away enough to let us plant the trees,”
He said. “Their blossoms will attract the bees.”
She looked and tried to tease
The cherry trees he saw into her mind,
But all she saw were stumps, work’s endless grind.
a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
a photograph by Sonja Bingen, our daughter
Filed under Art, Photography