The Cacophony of Crows

The crows gather as the sun rises

Outside my window.

Black specks in the branches

Hanging over the house

There is one in particular

Who, once starts,

Doesn’t stop.

To me, lying in bed,

It sounds as though

He argues with

All the others

In the yard.

It is harsh and guttural

And soul-jarring.

Making my heart

Race,

When all I long

To do

Is sleep.

First Flight

I have no idea how it survived the drop

The plump little feathered fledgling

Sitting on my porch.

It woke up this morning

In the small nest nestled in the eaves.

Now it sits blinking in the sun.

Suddenly flapping its wings furiously

Trying to catch the breeze

That ruffles its feathers

And lift off.

But only manages to hover a foot and

Lands again.

I hear the parents in a nearby tree

Their sharp chirps ring through

The air.

All at once I am completely

Invested.

I stare out the window and will it

To take its first flight.

Spring Showtime

Weeks of preparation have led to this day

Shivering nervously on the ends of branches

Divinely designed green skirts flutter in

The warmly growing breeze.

Each seed wakened recently

Out of a winter’s slumber.

Birdsong like the warming

Of an orchestra

Signals that it is time.

They let go.

Spiraling to the ground

In the hundreds.

Raining down in sheets of green.

Another reminder that nature

Is, at its root, pure magic.

The House Wren

The drooping string of Christmas lights hanging from the porch roof makes an excellent perch the little house wren decided. He had been busy flying to and fro working on the nest under the eaves. His little feet grip the plastic wires in between the colored bulbs and he gazes out onto the yard his head moving every which way to scan for danger. He has been busy all morning and is only vaguely aware of the figure behind the window watching him intently. This is his second spring here and he is used to the comings and goings from the house. Last year the hanging plant, sitting on the porch floor, was his favorite perch but he enjoyed the slight swinging motion the light string provided when the warm sunny breeze blew. Suddenly a bit of colored string tangled in the grass catches his eye and with a light motion he pushes off and it’s back to work.

A Turkey Symposium

Turkeys

Photo by Ruth Caron on Unsplash
This afternoon the flock of wild turkeys that live in the woods behind my house were having a symposium. I watched them darting to and fro among the trees and could imagine the large footprints they were leaving in the snow as they tramped about. I wondered what they were saying to one another as they gobbled and yelped and barked at one another. Such a strange language for the human ear to listen to. The largest male came to the edge of the woods and gazed at me, sizing me up, trying to determine if it was safe for the rest of the flock to enter the clearing. If it is possible for such a clumsy looking bird to look majestic, he had it mastered. I marveled at the size of him and the large fan of feathers on his rump. Unconsciously I took a step backwards as to not appear threatening. Seeing my motion, he turned tail and darted back into the trees barking warning sounds to the rest who quickly disappeared further into protection of the vertical timbers. Then all was quiet again. Just the sound of melting snow splashing off the roof and the lazy wind blowing around obstacles that it met.