poecile atricapillus

when fortunate enough to be living
in a peaceful area
where the mornings arrive like Grieg’s
in Peer Gynt,
the little bird, the smartest in line
just after the caw caw cawwing crows,
the jeering jays & the mimicking macaws,
s/he makes her way along the limbs of
an ample birch or outstretched oak
to make an assessment of
what the day might bring,
whilst the dew still glimmers in the rising sun,
the beautiful bird sings aloud &
soon its fellows may come to join it in
the tree, for there are enough branches &
the day has just begun---
hopping lightly back & forth,
with barely a flutter in between,
in the early search for something to eat,
as part of the ongoing storage for the winter,
not heading south for a warm suntan &
as long as s/he can avoid the raptors today,
things should be smooth sailing
from here on out.