Late night storms

in the mountains

slam flickers

against the windows

of my log cabin


I discover them

at daylight

on the stone path


with drifted snow


Some mornings too I find

cardinals pierced by cats

under the feeders,

feathers scattered

in the slow shifting

of the early sun


If there is purpose

inside a storm,

or a reason for killing

by cat,

they must only be for me

to hunt them down