They're Back

They're Back

There's music in the air

this winter day that's fair.

Not from a flute or a piano.

Not from a violin or a cello.

Not even from a trumpet

though this music trumpets

this chilly winter morn

like a just-tuned horn.

Where is this music coming from?

From someplace outside in the sun.

It's chirps and tweets I hear

pleasant to my ears.

When I investigate

inside the garden gate

there's a flock of chickadees

which are quite pleasing to me.

They're in the butterfly bush

sharing seeds, they do not push.

Also in the shrubs they hide

where red berries abide.

I take a minute to watch

their little black-capped thatch

atop their gray-feathered form

this chilly winter's morn.

Quite festive they are

singing from afar.

I am glad they stopped by

with their welcome lullaby.

I listen to their song

but not for very long

for they take off again

taking their song with them.

In the dead of the winter I do miss

the various songbirds and their music.

I'm thankful to hear their return

as they promise spring's return.

* * * * *

Be sure to listen for the birds

whose music is daily heard

returning joyously

every morning quite early

then again in the evenings

with a lullaby forthcoming.

I heard two mourning doves cooing this morning.

There they were on the maple tree's limb singing.

They hadn't heard

what I had heard -

that tomorrow it will be snowing.

I wondered where they would be going?

That's how it is with the arrival of spring.

It teases one day, the next day it's snowing.

I wonder if spring bulbs start crowning

when they hear the birds returning?

All I know is a miracle is seen

when spring flowers finally start to preen.

I still don't know,

do you know,

where the morning doves will go

tomorrow when it starts to snow,

but I do know they will be together

whatever commences with the weather.

See! The winter is past;

the rains are over and gone.

Flowers appear on the earth;

the season of singing has come,

the cooing of doves

is heard in our land.

The fig tree forms its early fruit;

the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.

Song of Songs 2:11-13

 

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