Wheeling sound outside my door.
I leap to my feet,
Rummage in the garage.
Later, crystalline feeder swaying,
I fold my arms, surveying the snow.
Sun-warmed boards underfoot,
I watch his favorite tree.
Has the horrible hummingbird returned?
Rumors placed them only miles south last week.
Our home has been muffled in hushed snow.
We are braced, again, for epic battles on our porch.
Later, when the dog barks at a rumbling truck
And I eye the yet-empty feeder,
I pause to notice the distinctive whine.
Is it just a bad axle?
Perhaps war waits for another day.