For a moment,
let the words lie still
upon my tongue,
Allow my busy mind
to alter
this landscape of sound —
hum and wash of traffic
becomes the Ocean’s distant voice;
yawn of plane spells
the ache and groan of Summer —
that I might hear,
instead,
Her varied tongue
in the wind’s movement
through the trees
and over a landscape
that scatters and dashes with life;
that I might hear
the lap and memory
of water tasting its warmed banks,
and the downward spill
among smooth-skinned beeches
of Wood Thrush’ song;
that I might hear
Gray Catbird call my name.
Let my words spill away,
for a moment,
that when my voice
has stilled,
my silence
goes
unnoticed.
— C.Birde, 7/16
“Tourne Reflection” — C.Birde, 7/16
Nightjars & Damselflies 
I can hear the catbird calling you…..
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I knew you would! He serenaded us this morning at 5:15am! (We keep very different hours! 😉 )
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i just read your poem, which serves as a balm for a mind troubled by today’s terrible news in the U.S. your last seven lines are lovely.
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Thank you, and I am glad if my small offering of words granted you some comfort. It seems, lately, that we spend far too much time and energy shouting at each other rather than looking for ways to extend compassion and empathy. Sometimes, to get away from the anger, I take the dog and go for a long hike…where I can listen again with an open heart. Peace.
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Such a finely wrought moment! 😆
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Thank you, Radhika 🙂
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