The Winged Forest

The clear, ringing peal of a blue jay
dissipates the silence of the woods,
as from its perch it asserts ownership
of all it surveys. Soon, however,
winging silently off in search of
another perch for a repeat performance
clearly besotted with its idea of self
as master of its leafy-treed landscape.

A nestling crow, newly acquainted
with wide spaces and the emerging
buoyancy of its tender but boldly
outspread wings flies awkwardly from
branch to branch of an old pine, the
young bird's continual quacks of
querulous demands driving its hovering
parents to frantic distractionary tactics.

There, the sun ablaze in the vast blue
sky, sending shafts of pure gold through
the dense forest canopy to light up
four goldfinches, on the branches of a
neat little Hawthorn, like lemons
growing on a lemon tree - with the
fragrance of sweet pears wafting from
the blooming bedding grasses below.

Elsewhere in this summer forest, a
cardinal's high, sweet trill excites the
atmosphere, and the response is swift
and bright, as the pair take flight in
scarlet passage deeper into the
embracing, emerald-green woods.

Robins, a family of juveniles loathe to
take wing, scatter bipedally in short,
purposeful bursts along the forest trail.
They forage among the cinquefoil, the
buttercups and blooming clover, sending
up startled blue, winged creatures whose
concern is to avoid becoming a meal;
intent upon their very own life journey.