this cleverness

this cleverness
with all its clicks and searches,
with all its news
of competition and control,
with all its bombs and bombast
leaves me hollow
and a bit ashamed.

i prefer
walking out in the morning
into the early light
and the smudge of frost
on my breath,
into the little brown nuts
of song
collecting around the chickadees,
into the sweetness
of sleeping trees and squirrel nests,
into the subtle trails
of wonderment.

this morning
a little red feather
wafted down
and landed on my scarf.
then a thousand flaming words
followed me home
and built a nest
in this poem.