Linda Barrett

Birds chirp their characteristic songs
Amid the emerald green leaves of the black and white birch
In my backyard
Each one has its own tune
Motifs that I can’t identify with their species
Their individual pieces remind me of this time of year
Just before the summer solstice
The sun rising at its highest apex
Before it descends minute by minute
Earlier and earlier into the night’s blackness
As for now,
The birds converse in their own intricate flute solos
Scissor sharp shrieks from blue jays
Whippoorwill mournfully coos
Its somber clarinet
Woodpecker hammers away
In a far oak tree
Pauses for a moment
Then returns to his pattering beak work
Preparing for a nest in the side of a tree
Black crow caws his wisdom
Others I can’t hear to recognize
But their individual music
Always reminds me
Of the precious but brief moments
Heard on this magical kind of day
In this fragile but precious time of year.