Who are you?

Who are you? I wonder.  And why are you here? especially on a day, when it feels there is nothing coming through to the page?

Somewhere close by, there is a bird singing.

I don’t remember him from any other spring and I’ve lived here, in this same neighborhood, for years.  In April, there were the same sweet chickadees chicka-dee-dee-deeing  in search of mates.  For months now, the cardinals have serenaded from tree tops, so bold and boastful and red.

But this bird, he is one like no other, and he has been singing to the heavens in every different trill and caw and warble you could imagine a bird singing.

I wish my words could sing as effortlessly.  Instead they plod along like work horses.   Tomorrow will be better.

With gratitude to the hidden garden bird.  My best guess (thank you Audubon Society) is that he is a Lark Sparrow


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