poecile atricapillus

when fortunate enough to be living

in a peaceful area

where the mornings arrive like Grieg’s

in Peer Gynt,

the little bird, the smartest in line

just after the caw caw cawwing crows,

the jeering jays & the mimicking macaws,

s/he makes her way along the limbs of

an ample birch or outstretched oak

to make an assessment of

what the day might bring,

whilst the dew still glimmers in the rising sun,

the beautiful bird sings aloud &

soon its fellows may come to join it in

the tree, for there are enough branches &

the day has just begun---

hopping lightly back & forth,

with barely a flutter in between,

in the early search for something to eat,

as part of the ongoing storage for the winter,

not heading south for a warm suntan &

as long as s/he can avoid the raptors today,

things should be smooth sailing

from here on out.