The bold branch of the oak
reaches out to touch the
thin air
caressing softly
the clouds that pass
the brilliant rays
of the passing sun

The passerotto
stopping to rest for a moment
in the sun’s warmth
closes it’s eyes
and drinks strength
from the old oak’s

As if waking from a dream
the passerotto lifts its wings and flys away
in the coolness of the
evening’s light