The Birds Secrets

Outside my window, clouds rest wearily on trees like eerie tulle veils, that mysteriously hang in silence.

I long for the birds to sing me their secrets, but they can not fly in such gloom, and therefore, can not sing.

They tuck their little tufted heads under their downy wing, nodding drowsily on one leg in wise contemplation. 

Their eyes know of all the earth, from the ground to the sky, but are flightless in this bleached out world.

I too, wait for the bland landscape to share its hidden beauty, and the flower faces to lovingly smile at the sun.