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

frustration

with science,

A human endeavor

increasingly

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
www.hiraethpress.com

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