Little Bird singing
It's final song
Of summer
From the maple tree flaming
With color,
Why have you not yet flown
To warmer climes?
Have you delayed your going
To serenade
The changing of seasons?
Perhaps you are here to prove
There is joy
Even in the coming dusk
Of a year filled
With challenges.
Thank you, Little Bird,
For reminding me
To look for blessings
Where there appear to be
So few:
In the blazing color
Of the leaves,
In the autumn azure
Of the sky,
And in the beauty
Of your song.
Still time to fly to warmer climes. Beautiful thought, but birds instinctively know when to get out of Dodge.
Reminds me of the time I was hunting in late October in Wisconsin. Along the fence line of the railroad tracks I saw a mourning dove fly off. But with most of the foliage down, there was a nest. When I went and looked, the nest was filled with eggs. With snow about to fly and temperatures to drop below freezing, I didn't see the chicks surviving. That nest so low to the ground, about 3 feet, may have been made by an inexperienced bird who lost several clutches of eggs to foxes during the summer. When I came back later, the nest was empty.
Explore the mystery of how nature makes unexpected gifts of creative wonders to an unsuspecting caregiver one late night and early morning in southeastern Georgia, USA.
Explore the mystery of how nature makes unexpected gifts of creative wonders to an unsuspecting caregiver one late night and early morning in southeastern Georgia, USA.
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Reminds me of the time I was hunting in late October in Wisconsin. Along the fence line of the railroad tracks I saw a mourning dove fly off. But with most of the foliage down, there was a nest. When I went and looked, the nest was filled with eggs. With snow about to fly and temperatures to drop below freezing, I didn't see the chicks surviving. That nest so low to the ground, about 3 feet, may have been made by an inexperienced bird who lost several clutches of eggs to foxes during the summer. When I came back later, the nest was empty.
Ron
Sandie