In winter
they appear.
Clumps of twigs, brittle leaves,
bits of string and bark,
revealed in branches
stark against the sky.

Suspended from the hawthorn's limb
a bowl spun of mud,
strips of cloth, and fine grasses
earlier encircled a robin's blue eggs,
followed by three young thrushes,
spotted with brown.

The bare fork of a creekside willow
presents a pale, cottony creation
lined with thistle down.
Many weeks ago, several yellow finches
left its soft shelter,
fluttered down
like leaves.

And uncovered
in the blossomless
wisteria:
a thimble of moss
embroidered with lichens.
Snug within, two iridescent wisps
once dined on nectar,
sipped drops of dew.