Patchwork Prose and Verse
Not Twitter: An Etheree
they’re tweeting amongst themselves this morning
in the best way nature intended
none of this electronic stuff
redbirds, bluebirds, house finches
from their treetop branches
chirp praise harmonies
welcoming sun
singing life
into
day
I came to love birdwatching when, as a child, my mother pointed out every bird and called it by name. Wherever we were, she’d point to cardinals, chickadees, bluebirds, and tell us about them. On drives from our home to visit our grandparents, Mom spotted every hawk and announced it – Cooper’s Hawk, Red-Tailed Hawk, Red-Shouldered Hawk, and so on. She knew them all. My mom’s mother was known for her landscaped yard with flowers and shrubs of many kinds – – along with her bird feeders and bird baths. There was never any doubt that I’d take their legacy of their deep love of birds into future generations.
It’s also why I feel their presence most closely where birds are concerned. And it’s why sometimes I wonder if birds are angels, of a sort. It’s why my heart has been so heavy since they clear cut all the trees on our farm, save for a few hardwoods – after putting out specific seeds to attract specific birds over the years and then celebrating when they showed up. We will replant, but tall trees are years away.
I doubled down on my hummingbird feeders for that reason, and was delighted to see that my favorite hummingbird from last summer has returned. I cried when she left last year, lingering longer than all the rest, and I’d know her anywhere. She’s the only one who gives thanks for her food, looking me straight in the eye with sincerity. She’s back.
one little hummer
hovers close, looks me in the eye
expressing thanks for her sweet nectar
a fighter jet on gratitude pause
hovers close, looks me in the eye
just as she did last summer
a fighter jet on gratitude pause
this ruby-throated hummer
just as she did last summer
she was the last to fly south
this ruby-throated hummer
turning my tears of grief to joy
she was the last to fly south
expressing thanks for her sweet nectar
turning my tears of grief to joy
one little hummer
first the landscape changed ~
two months ago they clear cut this land
harvested the pine trees
I cried for the trees,
for the birds
I’d loved to watch from the front porch
for their nests
for their eggs
for their fledglings
a few remained in the hardwoods,
the usual cast of characters~
cardinals, wrens, finches, pine warblers
my favorite wood thrushes
but then Dad died
and the world changed
Merlin was going strong
helping me identify the birds
by their birdsongs
Prairie Warbler
Orchard Oriole
Northern Cardinal
Tufted Titmouse
Brown Thrasher
Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher
Eastern Bluebird
Eastern Phoebe
….when my husband walks up
and kisses me right on the lips
then asks
what did that register as?
a lovebird???
and this is the kind of humor
I love about him
and how I know
he’s a keeper
Last week, I heard them before I saw them – which is rarely the case. Usually, they’re perched up on a tree limb or on a wire watching for the slightest rustling in the underbrush below, looking for living snacks. Not last week, though. The house was quiet, when out of nowhere the familiar cries came nearer. Soon, they seemed right overhead – and sure enough, I stepped out onto the front porch, glanced up, and saw them.
I feared for our families of rabbits and our raccoon (which may actually be one of a pair with little ones) that has just checked in to live among the wild critters at the Johnson Funny Farm. We have a revolving door for all kinds of furry and feathered and scaly and armored friends, from armadillos to foxes to possums to raccoons, to rabbits, field mice, bobcats, fox-squirrels, chipmunks, owls, herds and herds of all-day-deer, rogue donkeys and wayward cattle (even bulls, yes), escaped horses, dogs, snakes, skunks, coyotes, birds of all kinds, and feral cats. We have even had wild boar come through years ago, and a mysterious creature that my parents swear was a Florida panther back in 2010, even though I still question that. We believe we have had a bear, too, on the wilder side of the farm where hunters once took the back gate down and began dumping deer heads and wild hog carcasses like it was a regular landfill back there before we reinstalled a heavier gate and an old non-working camera with a No Trespassing sign.
Seeing hawks, though, as often as it happens, is always a bittersweet sight. I love the majestic presence, but even as I near the age of 60, I am still skittish about the brutal cruelty of nature. And so much of it goes on right here in the woods.
Just like the regular world we live in, where most of us feel more like rabbits right about now.
Red-Shouldered Hawk pair
circles overhead, seeking
unsuspecting prey
Birds: huddled, hungry
their feeder became a roof
shelter from the storm
I tossed extra seeds
where snow layers had buried
their black sunflowers
no, that bird
wasn’t fake
but it wasn’t
alive either
it was frozen
this Belted Kingfisher
posed for the
painting in all its
grays, blues, and blacks
fresh from the freezer
thawed in the eyes
of the artist
captured in each
stroke of her
brush on the
blank canvas
waiting to
take flight
woodcutters will be here in one month
evicting our birds from their homes
they were scheduled for April
I’m scheduled for heartbreak
I asked for “not spring!”
nestling killings
are not an
option
here
Shaun of Las Vegas, Nevada is our host today for the 18th day of #VerseLove2024. He inspires us to read this poem by Charles Bukowski that you can find here, along with the full prompt. [Bukowski, Charles. Sifting Through the Madness for the Word, the Line, the Way. New York: Ecco (An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers), 2003.]
Then, he urges, Think about your life. Do you feel like there is something holding you back? Do you feel stuck or helpless in your circumstances? Do you remember a time when you persevered and overcame the challenges thrown at you? Perhaps you can tap into your inner-coach and deliver that life-changing halftime motivational speech!
I found inspiration in these lines of Bukowski’s
just watch them.
Listen to them.
I also added ending lines from Old Woman of the Roads by Padraic Colum
out of the wind’s and the rain’s way
The Neighborhood
there they are
building nextsÂ
in the garage
again
three already
we can’t even
put the door
down because
there’s one on top
and on the toolbox
and in the corner
in a box
three wrens
friends?
just watch them.
Listen to them.
building houses
chirping dreams
in this
regular
bird-friendly
neighborhood
out of the wind’s
and the rain’s way
Today’s poem is a Haiku, inspired by the footage on my Netvue bird camera. We always seems to find such joy in watching birds, but the truth is that they argue and antagonize each other as much as people. Perhaps we laugh because they help us see the humor in human nature and how ridiculous we look.
The Quarreling Songbirds
quarreling sparrows
bicker, spar over birdseed
like squabbling siblings
Common Threads 