A full moon in the birdbath, a perfect circle of ice blunting sparrow beaks. Cold stings the first knuckle of each finger breaking small pieces of bread from a slice now half its original size. I laugh out loud at the morning headlines, "St. Francis of Tucson, Bread Man to the birds, found wanting for nothing ever again, a freeze in the cactus garden of the Tucson basin." • what wind blows the Mexican Palo Verde the cactus wren my footsteps confess no special talent one sneaker follows the other into a brilliant make believe I know I know   Mother Father Sun and Moon Hi O Silver and away • The truth is Frank, a song and dance man wrote. All day, turning leaves     © Frank Parker Tucson, Arizona 27 December 2008 6:15 AM, 30 F, -1.1 C