Bird Life in The Dry Season
A lazy, warm and slightly sensual day unfolding with barely a breeze,
Blinking light in tropical greens, shadows on the branches twist and tease.
Floating high above the canopy, puffs of cotton pretending to be clouds,
The robin’s song, echoing in robin throats ,“ Choose me! No, choose me!”
As the age-old battle of finding a mate unfolds, in every strata of every tree.
Nest building, egg sitting, stuffing beaks with ripe bananas, flitting, flying and feeding,
Cicadas starting up their motors, blaring sirens of insect-looped insanity.
It’s hot outside; it’s dry but now and then a grey cloud stealthily drifts by,
Pretending it might bring rain, but not before those hungry little beaks have learned to fly,
Not until the summer months, have nurtured fledglings in their first flight, up to the sky.
This is what it’s all about, for the outdoor dwellers who fly high over my land.
They pair up, they create new lives and care for them, each throwing in a hand.
Do they not feel pride or regret when their little offspring leave them, for new trees then?
I imagine they sit, on branches, observing the empty nests, nodding in agreement;
“Ah yes, we have been lucky…It’s been a very good dry season!”
*Please click HERE to hear its song. Many times they will begin to sing before daylight
February 22, 2020