Eyes open in the morning.

What time is it?

8 AM.

Peep out the window, on the way to wee.

Grackles. Starlings. Cowbirds. Red Wing Blackbird.

Have a smoke and a vape, make some tea.

And it begins.

The endless standing. Waiting.

Slow movements inside the kitchen,

Peeping out the window, peeping out the window.

The only tiny window which affords the best look.

Right in front of the kitchen sink.

Camera on a tripod,

aimed at a platform feeder.

A downy woodpecker comes, goes,

fearless when the cowbirds whoosh away,

for the presence of a squirrel.

A cardinal lands on the platform,

preening in the morning sun.

Click click click,

captured forever, he flies away.

Eyes straining into the high branches,

between the buds of spring, and tiny leaves…

Is it a sparrow up there,

or a titmouse?

That darn titmouse….

So cute, but so jumpy,

refusing endlessly to be captured.

I admire his restlessness.

But have relinquished my own,

in place of patience, and slow movements.

 

Where once there was only sleeping late, and wild nights,

parties, friends, jobs, pressure…

there is freedom now, peace.

Time, to learn patience.

The art of waiting.

I wait like a stone.

 

Then, suddenly….

a large bird, walking about on the ground.

A gigantic yellow head,

plump body dwarfing all the cowbirds,

even the grackles.

What could this be?

This big bird i have never in life, seen before?

in art, or with my own eyes?

Glorious! Foreign! Exotic!

Snappity snap i fire away,

but there is blur for all my excitement.

Then he himself is a blur, and is gone.

Heart racing, hands shaking,

I am sad for his departure,

but so grateful for the chance to have seen him at all.

 

Sore legs from hours of standing.

head aflight with images of a yellow headed vision.

 

A rare bird, in my tiny backyard.

Yellow Headed Blackbird.

My finest Ornitholigical hour.

 

In the morning, 8 AM

Talking to my fiancee, in the shed.

Up there, in the high branches of the tree.

What is that?

 

It is his golden gloriousness.

Returned to me.

I snap only two pictures, in perfection.

It is done.

He is mine.

 

And back to the window i go…

Awaiting the next strange trill, or colored head…

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