Late night storms
in the mountains
slam flickers
against the windows
of my log cabin
I discover them
at daylight
on the stone path
glittering
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