Sunday, March 10, 2013

Snow Birds

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

Dark-eyed juncos go to
combat over the
spilled seed.

It’s a thing to watch:

How such tuxedoed-sweetness
can suddenly transport
you to the ring-side of
tiny fighting cocks.

But they never hold a grudge.

And I saw one bow and yield
to an injured song sparrow,

its left foot grotesque but
still holding weight.

I’m not sure if there is anything
sweeter on late winter mornings
than the white-throat beginning
to retell his story about

“Old Sam…”

I do like how he leaves the plot
to me,
year after year.

I must admit to being rather
annoyed by some scientist’s
reclassification of
chickadees and titmice:

I’m not supposed to say,
Parus anymore.

And this is my growing
with science,

A human endeavor
void of romance.

I’ll tell you this:

All of the best scientists
were also mystics.

And so, I’ve decided that
the mixed foraging flock
cracking black oil sunflowers
at my feeder
are whatever they want to be.

And, I will love them.

And be in awe of their
ability to weather a storm
from which the majority of
the people in this county
are still hiding.

Yes, awe.

That is the right word

for snow birds.

©2013-2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Winter: Reflections by Snowlight"
Published by Hiraeth Press

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