Magpie Pearls

So To Speak

Thanking her great good fortune

-- gods of providence notwithstanding --

Magpie braves a cavernous maw,

mealy-mouthed hu*men, and possible mockery

to present her clutch of misshapen offerings.

She skirts the perimeter of a dimly lit room

and tucks into her designated seat,

awkwardly angling Summer's long plumes,

to await her turn in the sweltering heat;

while far above, ceiling fans, six to a row,

whirr and stir stuffy, inarticulate gloom.

Propped open with wooden chairs,

double side doors allow the faintest waft

of air, an intimate meandering breath

through a serene vestige of primeval,

drought-stricken Douglas-fir forest.

Tired eyes drawn to Towhee's familiar

hip-hop-scratch, Magpie observes his methodical,

halfhearted pecking amid the understory's litter

of parched mosses and prematurely fallen leaves,

startling at the sudden jewel of his glance,

a brazen, inquisitive brilliant red glitter.

Why are you in there? Towhee's eye pries.

Barely registering beneath tension's

languid churn, regret is dismissed as nerves;

Magpie repositions herself and, facing forward,

aims to apprehend swirling flights of words.

Unambiguous call jars random brooding.

Bird wobbles to her feet, smoothing rumpled feathers,

moves briskly to the front of the hall so to speak,

as upbeat mistress of ceremonies introduces her.

Shyly, Magpie heckle-hops onto a box

and waits for polite applause to abate.

Dazzled by bright light, trying to ignore

silhouettes below, she duly modulates 

her now amplified preternatural squawks.

Gradually her eyes adjust and turn upward

to gaze into a backdrop haze of memory.

Thirsty for air, her pink tongue fumbling,

Magpie draws in the deepest of breaths

before launching forth into her story.

Photo found on Flicker under hiveminer.