Orange and red leaves rustle in the breeze
a chorus floats magically across the field . . .
but leaves don’t sing so where is the source
of nature’s symphony so generous to yield?
At just the right moment I was brought here
to hold my breath, tilt my head and see . . .
not five, not ten, maybe two dozen or more
small birds emerge and fly to a tall pine tree.
How joyous to know that God’s tiny creatures
could touch my life in this unique way . . .
a blessing to learn that miracle of miracles
when maple trees sing it's a perfect day.