February is a white flower, a snowdrop hunched to the earth. February is a Steller’s jay feather on browned leaves, easily missed. February awakens song from the wine-colored finches preening atop the tallest cedar, and the juncos scattered in the sedges, flashing white tail feathers.
This winter, quail have taken refuge on the farm. With commas and exclamation points bobbing over their heads, the covey forms a paragraph that constantly changes shape in my backyard. The farm beneath snow is a page and they stamp “Y”s with their toes: typewriters with one-letter questions.
Winter invites introspection, to ask yourself why?
Today, the quail were hidden beneath blackberry vines, but I heard them rustling. And now, as The Dandelion Farm Review launches its first issue, I imagine these five poets as birds – a flash of white, a rustling in the leaves – answering why with song.
Patrick Loafman, editor
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