I sit hereOn my ugly porch(it has multiple cracks)(and needs pressure washed)(and painted)In the duskTrying to readBut my book is dullAnd my across-the-street neighbor Is walking Up and down his driveway I have observed five tripsSo farBut I am also watching my dogWho has made four rounds of the perimeter While I have eaten OreosSo many I lost count…
I sat on the porch today, watching birds. It wasn’t like I didn’t have anything else to do. But I like to watch birds. I’ve thought many times, as no doubt many of you have, about what it would be like to fly. More specifically, what it would be like to be a bird. In the past, I’ve thought I would most like to be a hummingbird. They’re fast, they’re tiny, they’re brilliantly colored, everybody likes them, and they hover like a helicopter and can fly backwards. Lots of friendly people feed them sugar water, which, I imagine, is the avian equivalent of Mountain Dew. This all sounds quite ideal to me. However, I have been giving this more thought. Hummingbirds have to fly south for winter. That’s a long way for such a little bird. And I don’t hear them do a lot of chirping. Which made me think about the mockingbird. Mockingbirds aren’t stuck with one birdsong throughout their lives. They’re gifted and continuously chatter with over twenty different voices. As much as I like to talk, this would be peerless. And, as an added bonus, they’re the state bird. But then I got to feeling guilty, because about the time I landed on being a mockingbird, the barn swallows showed up, calling and darting through the sky, chasing bugs. I love swallows so…
