Songbirds Calling

There are birds, everywhere.
And not just any birds but beautifully colored songbirds.
I don’t remember there ever being more than
a blue jay or a cardinal perched on those clotheslines.

This morning there was a sparrow, and tonight,
dare I say a mockingbird.
Flying toward the telephone wires
from a hidden place in the overgrown bush in the yard.  

It’s not quite there silhouette
almost magical in the twilight, nearing dusk.

They are whispering languages in white noise
blocking out the honks of the passing cars,
ambient sounds of commuters arriving home,
the ice cream truck with its unfamiliar grinding tune.  

Singing in time with the crickets,
with hollow chirps and airy chimes
that call to mind a country landscape:
Weeping willow trees, their branches grazing the earth
rose petals barely awake reaching in the summer sky
a swirl of lightning bugs playing hide and seek.

All for an apiary serenade.  
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