Chickadee in the birdfeeder–watches me as he gathers seeds, then takes them up into the tree, and thanks me with clicks and chirps. A woodpecker flies north, high, cracking his throat. And a cardinal boy zooms past, low to the grass, to the south. A large bird lands in the cherry tree and makes a throaty warble–something I’ve not heard before.
I look up from my writing. It’s a blue jay, the symbol of blind ambition, looking down on the feeder, and asking for more. The mocking bird sings louder than anyone, high in the pine. He tries to sound like a hawk, scaring other birds with a loud whine.
Then a hawk, a real one, spreads his red wings and lands in the sweet gum. A slight breeze. The sky clouds over. Rain later.
I sit here, learning my lesson: Pay attention to truth, from wherever it comes. You never know what wisdom song some crazy bird might hum.
Cassie Premo Steele’s most recent poem here was Lima Beans (June 2011).