The Winter Visitor

The pheasant appeared in the days
when winter was wet and grey. Red wattle
and bottle-green head declaring his arrival.
Somehow those barred green feathers
gave us hope as he bounded across the lawn,
ignoring lesser birds and sharp-clawed cats.
His colourful outfit demanded an occasion.
Seemingly tame, he tilted his head and stared
as we scattered seeds to hold him to us.
He waited until we turned away before eating,
then wiped the grass clean with gusto.
His head lifted, giving a nod of thanks.
We got through Christmas with his help.
When there were no words we fed him
and watched as he pecked up hope.
Now in March, he’s still here,
preparing for better times
as he bursts upwards roaring his cry.