Flash in the Pan
A Quarterly Posting at Tiny Lights
by Maggie Manning
On a wet and windy early-summer morning, birds call from the grass, from the wires, from the woods. I walk, head down, rain dripping off the bill of my hat, ears attuned to bobolinks calling:
See me, see me, see me! Surely you can see I am; I matter. Despite the record warmth, despite the pesticides applied to the neat red-clay rows, I am, I matter, and I sing.
I sing of spring, of nests to feather, of broods to feed. I sing of territory, of mating needs, of life, of hope. I sing you into summer, into being, into my world where life goes on.
Maybe Emily Dickinson was right after all: hope is the thing with feathers.
Maggie Manning needs more bobolinks in her world…or needs to listen more closely to them, anyway.
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