Bird Table at Greenwood

Feeder’s full.

A couple of handfuls

of seed bounced on

the ground.

Here they come,

bringing their unique

personalities.

A ruddy chaffinch

is the first to arrive.

A downhill skier crossing

the line, turning violently

on his edges

kicking up seed like snow.

Cheeky inky eyes

blink up at me

with the wonder of a

five-year old and the question,

“did you just see that?”

I can’t help but smile

and nod.

A fat sparrow

bounces over grass. He

works for customs and excise

and makes me feel like

there should be paperwork

to be checked before he

fires his blaster, alerting

friends and family of the feast.

Siskins from another realm

hang upside down

busily combing niger seed.

A reed bunting (a sparrow dressed as Zorro)

calls with fidgeting eyes from a nearby potentilla,

“is it safe? Any sparrow hawk sightings today?”

Two yellowhammer males,

blissfuly unaware,

are in a territorial ascending

and descending skirmish,

flecks of gold land on the grass.

It is my beloved robin

that I am most pleased to see.

On landing softly he gives

three courtly bows

as if reciting a silent

doxology.

He pecks me a look, knowing

that amidst all this

plumage and pageantry

he is the only bird here

that I have named.