Song School

On our porch swing
Drinking coffee
Listening to chickadee chatter.
It begins.
The transformation of frost
Via dawn light.
The slant of it
The micro-nuance of it
as it cracks & melts &
slides down the roof.
Yes,
it chatters too,
“I am the Spring’s harbinger.”
Then silence…melted & alive in the gutters
& then to the rain barrel,
a very different
species of noise and signal.
The chickadees chickadeedeedee,
The drips ripple
down and out.
An uncompromising duet,
A song school.

2 Replies to “Song School”

  1. I am but student
    of the birds,
    the chatter all
    that matters in
    this book I took
    and tore away
    the pages of
    yesterday’s blues.
    Let me sing
    the duet, a song
    not quite yet of Spring,
    in hopes my words
    might be the calling
    of a change,
    with sadness falling.

    — riffing, you know, as we do – Kevin

  2. Winter into Spring: A Duet

    I am the birds,
    their chatter,
    notes
    from winter’s blues.
    Let me sing
    the song
    that’s not quite Spring,
    my words merging
    and calling the change,
    rising,
    falling,
    awaiting,
    silent,
    melting,
    alive,
    an uncompromising duet,
    a song school.

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