People Over Politics, World Over Wealth
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The water sound, as you turn on the
backyard hose, when you fill the bird
bath with fresh water. Soft patter of
the seed you scatter for birds, small
critters to come feed at your larder.
Mostly wrens, house finches and other
l.b.b.’s, little brown birds, as a friend,
who’s no longer with us, described
them. Black-headed juncos, rufous-
sided towhees make appearances,
as well as scrub jays and, of course,
the congress will come. I ask, a
congress of Raven’s, is that correct?
You swear we’re witnessing a murder,
a murder of crows, but I’m sticking
with my congress. They dominate the
bath, while the braver, small birds
still dart and kick, little windup toys,
sending the mulch flying onto the
flagstone paths of our large backyard.
A chipmunk cheeps, cheeps, cheeps,
as a red-shouldered hawk lands
on the fence and everyone scatters.
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