Continuous Song

Cool air and soft mornings, autumn insects

Rally with sounds foretelling autumn silence,

And birds sing the new day into being.

Not the robins, though. They came first.

Now is the time for the tufted titmouse

Saying get thee to the feeder with seed

Like the crows who announce the end of rain or snow

Demanding that you look up, look out

See that waking is continuous song.

So, too, is sleeping.

Buds emerge and blossom, fade and fall

In shades of yellow that honor the sun

Then form buds anew and wait out the song.

There is no great bursting forth or falling.

Here all feeding, flying, eating, and rest

Make the one story that is every story.

The doe and her fawns eat summer light whole

No fear of winter slows them in their flow.

See this and hear it.  Taste and know. This is your song.

In memory of my dear friend, Richard "Papason" Lundwall.