Birdsong
Birdsong
Steph Rae Moran
From the Mission Viejo Poetry + Art Collaborative (2023)
I pass an oak tree on my walk, its rounded crown dense with the calls of spring birds. Slowing, I peer through green leaves to find several dozen Pacific-slope flycatchers settled on the inner branches, small with yellow underbellies. They remind me of the birds of Rhiannon, and I wonder if their melody will charm me as time slips by unnoticed. It might prove restful to spend months, years even, captivated by birdsong without the weight of worry and sorrow. Shaking my head to dispel these thoughts, I look up to see the real danger: a red-tailed hawk floating, waiting for the right moment to pluck a bird (or maybe two) from their perch. As I step closer to the tree, an act of protection, the flycatchers take wing— two, three, six at a time, and spread out into the grassy field behind me. Their music fades, leaving only the sound of rustling leaves in a delicate breeze.