They’ve been here a few weeks—
a few of them,
as if tuning up
for the concert.
Now they have all gathered,
at vibrating their tummy tymbals,
and perform their calls
en mass.
Away for a few days,
I am back on the porch
for morning meditation,
focusing on my breathing,
when I hear the concert
playing all around.
I abandon the focus on my breathing
and sit in absolute splendor,
focused instead
on the rhythmic ebb and flow
of their sizzle song.
One section ebbs
and another picks up the flow,
back and forth.
Eurasian-Collared Doves
hoo-hoo their plaintive call
and woodpecker
raps a drumbeat on the telephone pole.
Guineas’ sharp, incessant squawk
and high-pitched chucking
sound the dissonance.
Below and above it all,
the steady,
cicadea sizzle
takes me deep
into my core
where such peace