Strange morning: first a 20-MPH gust of wind out of a clear sky whips the treetops, then the dead cherry beside the porch fills with birds.
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Strange morning: first a 20-MPH gust of wind out of a clear sky whips the treetops, then the dead cherry beside the porch fills with birds.
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Specifically, four eastern phoebes (presumably parents with fledglings), a tufted titmouse, a gray catbird, an eastern towhee, and very breifly joining them, a downy woodpecker, all in a very constrained space. It’s times like this I am especially glad I didn’t cut down what most people would consider an eyesore.
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We’re perched on Dave’s dead cherry tree
We’re singing songs about the summer
Sunlight filtered through bare branches
shines on everybody’s feathers
I’m chirping slow and rhythmic in
cacaphony of twittering
I hope my love will hear my voice
and fly to me and perch beside me
Hope that she will fine me
on this dead tree in the sun.
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aargh, “Hope that she will find me”, of course.
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…then the dead cherry beside the porch fills with birds.
A DIALOGUE ON A DEAD CHERRY TREE
“They also serve who stand and wait.”
Remember that line? Was it Milton, Stick?
Huh? Where’s the waiter? Who’s serving?
Look at that dead cherry tree. Who would
think the birds would prefer to perch there?
With this gust, no leaves will slap them!
Small consolation, but you might be right,
With perfect foliage, the tree sways faster.
A wind punch is not as hard on a dead branch.
Oh, what I’d forgive for the sight of a tree
With these birds for leaves! But when the
Wind breaks the tree, won’t they simply fly?
It’s the first time you said I’m right, milord.
You’re a dead branch yourself, dear Stick.
Look how I lean on you, each step I take.
—Albert B. Casuga
06-30-11