My Niska

I see her shadow first
casting orange
on the open
book. Then her slow,
breathing body
and see-through wings

She sits
on an empty
branch
all six legs anchored
and still

The wind comes
gently at first
then with some force

But still, she stays.

I wonder
why she’s chosen
this branch
on this tree.
This tree
amongst so many

Receive, she says,
Receive.

And I do.