Parting rain and fog, they come full scream,
announcing their arrival, alerting me.
Dressed in crests and admiralty blue,
they arrange themselves in ranks
I can’t discern –
white-tipped blue ornaments
scattered among the pine’s green-fringed limbs,
along the railing and the gutters’ edges;
when I am slow to respond,
on the screen door’s handle.
I’ve read that their coloration is due
to their feathers’ internal structure ,
the result of light interference;
that crushing destroys the feather’s blue –
a questionable desire.
And I’ve read that each individual
wears distinct markings,
a collar of black
encircling the nape of each neck,
dipping down and forward
along each white-bibbed front –
unique as a fingerprint.
Despite these facts, they remain a blur of blue.
The designated caller peers down expectantly
from the gutter’s edge.
We observe each other,
envoys of overlapping kingdoms.
and the off-white feathers at his throat
ruffle and stir.
When I send the nut skyward,
he lifts on spread wings and fanned tail.
Fingertips to talons.
Midair he collects my gift, his prize.
The moment joins and connects us.
We are inseparable.
— C.Birde, 11/16