Feeders filled, they soon return to partake

Feeders filled, they soon return to partake —

Finches, Gold and Purple, flit and chirp and take.

Little Junco — tidy fellow! — cleans up what’s spilt.

Here’s Nuthatch, scaling trees like the world is sideways.

As weather cools, friend Chickadee moves back;

Hold still enough, he’ll perch on seed-cupping hand

Heavy as nothing, happily snatching, fearless.

What was that?

Flash of something further back through the trees.

Looked like a shade of...

Was it a.... never seen one ‘round here.

Do you hear that?

Straining ears to catch unexpected song.

Sounds like a tune of...

Could it be a? O, what lovely tone.

Squabbling at the feeder brings attention back.

Silly birds, there’s enough for all.

Yellow and red in fluttering scuffle, scatter

More for little grey to glean on the edges

Like a little Moabite, taking home to Mara-hatching-plans.

Familiar chattering, darting, dashing, chasing

Whirring wings on frequent, facile friends.

There it is again.

Melody heart piercing, thrilling, calling.

Wait a while and it will wing away.

Almost certain it’s a... never hear another like it.

It’s here today.

Flash of something lingering, wanting to be seen,

Dear God! It looks like a...

Will You really? O, what splendid find.