Friday, December 9, 2022


 I just have to share this one funny memory that I wrote this poem about.


As I entered the house my husband announced

that he had seen a pink bird hopping around

in the soaring fir out back.

“What kind of bird is pink?” he questions.

“A flamingo,” I jest, “but I don’t think

you’d find those around here in our trees.”

It is too dark outside to verify his sighting.


The next morning, he anxiously points

saying “There it is! See it?”

High in the tree I view a flash of pink

bobbing around in the leaves.

Should I call Audubon?

I head out to the miniature forest

hoping for a better look, but I cannot see clearly,

my eyes only good for things up close.

Binoculars!  Once armed with them

I train the sight on the pink movement

dancing in the branches, focus upon my target,

and begin to laugh hysterically,

drawing quizzical looks.


Regaining composure, I hand off the binoculars

so that he may see his pink bird.

There, anchored in the tree by a green ribbon,

bobbing around with the wind’s breath,

is a slightly deflated pink mylar balloon.


  1. Ha! Good one! I thought neighbors a quarter mile away had put lights on a Huge tree. With binoculars I could see the cone of light was just a new yard light.
    Barb F

  2. Thata'as pretty funny, Rose! :-) Alice

  3. Funny! I can relate. I once approached what looked like a car lying on its side. As I drove closer, turned out to be a huge tree that had fallen. Georgia

  4. The eyes surprise ... with help from binoculars! Moma