A tree once mighty before my time died a few months ago.
And yet the bird calls have multiplied beyond the legion of branches that fell; their jubilant pit-pat-patter of songs zooming, blooming, conquering passed where their foremother's feet had settled back in '70-something. These modern voices care not of the ex-steadiness of that many-armed monolith. Gone! From the gathering hush of a many-wintered withering to simply no more, oh birds how they celebrate, they sing, they live!
No comments:
Post a Comment