City of Wrens
(Sun Series #8)
I’ve been drinking a tea made of smoke reading about the trickster from someone who knows those stories but doesn’t often let on. There’s been a cold rain and a northeast wind that’s brought back a lion to April’s end. Out the window past my mug two doves sit in the swamp white (wisely holding tight buds). One’s hard to make out low and darkly wet the colors of branches and storms. The other sits tall and looks like the doves on a sunny day; maybe the trickster knows where it’s been hiding out. This tea was Bill’s favorite — haven’t seen him in years. I wonder if he still keeps bees and is handy with a smoker.