One Thousand Birds to Carolina

One Thousand Birds to Carolina

From my observations,
two hundred miles along,
I believe I am still, one thousand birds
from Carolina.
There are cardinals singing
from the moist branches,
deep inside the long leaf pine.
The shadow of a chickadee lifts
across the yellow line.
I am moving slowly on this one lane.
I am watching the woodlands, where wrens,
lift off from roadside swamps,
that shift in neon oils of green
in the sunlight.
The hills lower into thickets,
then flatten into brushy hollows.
The birds embroidered on high wires
watch me with sideways stares.
When I reach the turnoff
to my childhood home, the magenta
of the sun leans toward dusk.
The phoebe bird hides in the porch eaves.
Fee bee, it cries, from behind a board.
I search our old places for a key.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

It is a beautiful homecoming piece, a paean to home that all of us who are from those places where cows and crows outnumber people can embrace as our own. The opening four lines are genius, nothing less. Wistful, but in no way sappily nostalgic. Beautiful and warm piece of work.

[Charles]

Nicely done, especially the title - marking distance by counting birds... some very nice lines here, especially 'the birds embroidered o high line poles,' though I must admit the image in my mind is birds on the wires between the poles, not on the poles themselves. hmmm... :-)

[Fabian G. Franklin]

""Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
Emily Dikinson

Of course you know that as Emily and I....I'm certain the hills will open their arms to welcome you home.