The Seasons: A Poem

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Sunrise over Amazing Grasses Family Farm The mad Artist wields His brush, Painted colors rush, To life and give flush, Before the quiet autumn hush. The life seems to pour, As colors fall to the floor, To be seen no more, Outside the dark, grey door. Brightness from below, Sun upon the snow, High, cold clouds blow, Flakes and ice appear to grow. The man melts with little seen, Underneath, pale, grey green, Hides life in dark unseen, Waits for warmth and to careen. Buds on branches show, Patience starts to grow, Trickles, streams and veins flow, Bringing fruits of melted snow. Sprung to life it springs, Bees, birds, sound rings, Lush green flings, Its gift bounty brings. Green growth gives one last rush, Underneath the Painter's brush. The mad Artist wields His brush, before the quiet autumn hush. More poetry is available from James M. Hahn in  The Last Dragon and Other Poems  available now. My new book of cryptogram puzzles " Secret Messages from the Saints " is avai
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Old Christmas trees, bird seed, and chickens.

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We're attracting the wrong sort of birds at our feeder. The chickens have been having fun picking up any scrap seeds that fall to the ground. The two trees pictured here are old Christmas trees. The one on the left is ours (free, off the front forty, obviously). The one on the right is my parent's tree ($20 down the tube). I put pieces of re bar in the ground and wired the trees to them to keep them upright. The boys plastered some pine cones with peanut butter and rolled those in seeds and then hung them from the trees. It's funny to watch the rooster eyeing those cones and trying figure out how to jump and peck at the same time. It hasn't been successful and I think he's too proud to try it very often.

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