Bird teaching

Birds teaching, today, everywhere. The geese quicken me, seeing them gathered, flying north. Something ancient in their call, in their flight, covering flyways they’ve covered for ages.

And the hawk, a red tail, balanced on the thinnest of branches, in a tree by the roadside, peering intently down into the furrowed rows of a late winter cornfield. What does the mouse see when the hawk drops? A shadow, great sharp talons, and then darkness. To the mice, the hawk must be God.

Then first spring rain, sitting on my porch. A young cardinal calls, from th maple tree on the boulevard. Mourning dove coos as it calls from the feeder. Bird calls mingle with rain sound–beautiful music.

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