For the Birds
Light Verse
by Don Tidwell

My Sunset
Spring
Aviantics
Pecking Order
The Rescue
For the Birds
Fallout


		MY SUNSET

	Summer evening in Bountiful.
	Skies to the West
	Reflect every beautiful hue!
	My friend from the North
	Tells me "don't be so smug...
	It's evening in Centerville too!!"


SPRING The wintry wind has disappeared. Spring is on the way. The snow is melting rapidly; More pleasant clime holds sway. Winter souls held captive Through duration of her reign, Shed their wintry burdens -- Now feel renewed again. The days begin to lengthen To accommodate Spring's song; Birds which wintered in the South Return in feathered throng. Early flowers make their bid To grasp some golden sun; Slumbered bulbs begin ascent For Summer's long rerun Nature bids her charges dress In garments fresh and green; Hearts reach out to grasp and hold This new, refreshing scene. Humanity once more transformed By thoughts these changes bring--- My world a softer brighter place; The season now is Spring.

AVIANTICS The Blue Jays in the walnut tree Are playing "blue jay tag." The "it" bird chases others As they dart and squawk and brag. Their noise disturbs the sparrows -- The five of them are LOUD, And when the "it" bird makes a tag, He flits around real proud. A flighty wren surveys the scene, Perched on a nearby twig And wishes that the greedy jay Would not be such a pig. A pair of wary crested quail With children chicks in tow, Patrol beneath that walnut tree And feast on overflow. What brings this feathered colony To grace our walnut tree? A FEEDER, full and spilling -- And it's absolutely free!

PECKING ORDER A Blue Jay and a Chickadee exchanged some angry words, in ornithol-ic language used when birds converse with birds. The chickadee accused the jay of aviary greed, and said he had a prior claim upon that sunflower seed. The blue jay flat denied the charge and boasted of his size, saying "this alone should tell you that I will not share my prize." Take my advice, young chickadee, and when you feel the need, look elsewhere in this garden, but don't touch my sunflower seed!

THE RESCUE One recent Sunday morning On returning to our home, I found a frantic humming bird Entrapped beneath our dome. The poor thing was exhausted From his efforts to fly free. His energy expended, Something very plain to see. I pondered rescue methods Which might save this tiny beauty, Fostered by sincere compassion Rather than by sense of duty. I contrived a novel rescue kit--- A brown bag on a stick, Then I brushed that bird to safety With a gentle well placed flick. He dipped his wings in thanks As he escaped that see-through bubble--- I grinned a grin inside Because I'd helped him out of trouble.

FOR THE BIRDS Each morning before daybreak the birds begin their din, impressing all who'll listen with the lovely voice they're in. They chirp and tweet and twitter to the fullness of each heart, and should one begin to falter, four different ones will start. Their feathered chorusmaster must have trained with Robert Shaw, for he won't allow an unused note to stick in any craw. The robins and the sparrows alternate the melody. The blue jays sing the tenor parts ... the wrens, the harmony. They practice for an hour or more in the dim before the dawn, and the chance for you to stay asleep, unless you're deaf, are gone! I'm a choral music lover and receptive to their call, but for these early morning concerts, wish they'd hire a different hall.

FALLOUT Jonathan Livingston Seagull performing tricks on high, appeared as just a silver speck, while soaring in the sky. The grace with which he dipped and turned bespoke of being free, and caring not for worldly woes which haunt humanity. The images presented as he practiced his routine, spawned thoughts of peace and quiet in this lazy Summer scene. His acrobatics finished, he descended from that plane, and in passing, splashed his autograph across my window pane!! The Dirty Bird !!





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© Don Tidwell 1953-2003

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