An odd fit in this busy morning garden,
with squawking Towhees, gawky adolescents
gunning for a free ride, and the meeps and blue flashes
of a half dozen newly minted Nuthatches. Every time they hear
movement in the house, they appear at the kitchen door
expectantly. Recent members of the Chickadee tribe,
demanding little beggars, some too shy to land
on my hand, watch the more experienced birds from
the sidelines. Envious but unable to break the unspoken taboo,
they make eye contact and veer off at the last second.
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I wonder what Sparrow thinks of the commotion,
content to peck hulled sunflower seeds at a distance.
White-Crowned usually comes through during Spring migration,
so I imagine him a traveller on his way to warmer climes,
stopping in to rest and refuel. There's a softness to his presence
amongst the daily foodies, as though forest living has imparted a
certain 'sagesse', an indefinable je ne sais quoi...
I envy his detachment, his open curiosity about the resident
pecking order mentality. As free as a bird, humans used to say,
before they charted every last Terra byte. Earth's no longer
unknown, yet birds, those still free to roam, ponder the cost
of leaving behind their nomadic ways and days.
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Magpie Pearls
Poetry~ This poetic journey started when I began questioning why I write poetry. The assumption I'd come across pearls of wisdom to impart is quickly challenged by readers of "Magpie Pearls", leading me to explore truth in a broader sense. Is truth univer...
