I would like to believe
that the birds sing-
(for me)
to pause, to stop (dead tracks)
from running to my daily flock
to hear their voice and stop
for surely they announce
(and I can feel)
spring is here
spring is about
even if the clouds doubt
or the temp flounders down
as grey as this day may be
the serenade-
tells me
(all I need to know)

cliche, but sometimes there is a reason for such things, I swear some birds are singing just for me, maybe it is all the bribes of rye bread crust, or leftover tortillas, or actual bird seed in the feeder, I would like to think they make mind of me, of course not, but why not dream it anyway, maybe I will wake up one day as a bird… I’ll try to remember and reward good stewards, but … I will be a bird so…

(and sometimes I am remiss to admit or post that this endeavor is truly just a corner where I post little notes, these are unedited one offs, and if not… I will tell you, not that it matters, I could tell you I worked on them like tilling soil for a week, same difference, but that is just not me, this, whatever this is, is just my thoughts in the forms they come to me, any questions or comments are of course appreciated, thanks for taking the time)