How is it possible?
Echoes in the void
left by silent winter.
The ebb and flow
of time
Green language returns.
Take it as a sign
that the same old song
continues.
How is it possible?
Scarlet in the canopies,
soliloquy.
This duet,
you and I,
must go on.
Not without you,
but dancing to your tune,
wherever it’s heard.
Call met by response,
speak,
and I’ll hang on each
and every
word.
I will return,
I will return.
How is it possible?
Listen,
and you will find
the answers you seek.
The tools of the trade:
Cryptic plumage,
Hawkish mannerisms,
And a steady supply,
Of child soldiers.
The cuckoo lies in wait,
Standing stealthily,
Avoiding strife,
With her victim’s eventual lapse,
She strikes.
Though they care not for their neighbors,
They do have a knack,
For finding babysitters,
Despite their reputation,
As impolite guests.
The screaming chick,
Sounds like the clutch,
Of hungry children,
It jettisoned.
On the other hand,
In the other hemisphere,
The cowbird makes little effort,
To make its egg inconspicuous,
Instead it relies on mob mentality.
The mom pays a visit,
To her nest of choice,
Which will be destroyed,
At the first sign of resistance,
To their alimony.
If there’s any acrimony,
It isn’t apparent,
As the often very different parent,
Raises the imposter.
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IMAGE CREDITS:
https://www.rspb.org.uk/birds-and-wildlife/bird-and-wildlife-guides/bird-a-z/c/cuckoo/
http://jasonking.net/site/brown-headed-cowbird/
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Seven mallard ducks flew in the familiar v-shaped formation they take when coming from or going to far-off places.
The land they cast shadows on grew more and more sparse the further they traversed.
“What a spring this has been,” the Second Lieutenant said with pride, he was sick that day.
The group was well-fed and riding high.
“I know,” piped the First Lieutenant enthusiastically, “I even got some french fries!”
At the apex of the V, the Colonel glanced at the Lieutenant Colonel incredulously.
“Love those things,” said the Captain.
“Guys, watch yourself out here,” sounded the Lieutenant Colonel.
“Yeah, humans were handing out bread like it was going out of fashion,” said the omega male, no one acknowledged him.
The leader stayed silent.
“We had the park all to ourselves! It was a great spring,” said the Major
There was a whooshing sound, then a smack.
The captain looked behind him, shed contour feathers twirled in the vortex of displaced air.
“Well,” the Colonel said, “seems like our idle chit-chat got our Second Lieutenant eaten by a peregrine falcon,” he said in monotone, “let’s try to keep our mouths shut for a little while, huh?”
I hear them outside, and this I know
The windows show a light-grey glow.
The yard was drizzle-dusted in a dancing, daylight daze,
Yet the sun’s rays poked through the rainy day’s haze.
The robins ranted and babbled by the crabapples,
While they foraged amongst the twigs and gravel.
I hear them now, while I stand in the sun room-
And I know that in time, all will come to bloom.
The wind whips and whisks the wisps,
Casting out cloudy skies
and spreading a crisp, brisk mist,
This too I know is true,
When I stand in the sunroom.
The File Pile 