August morning
with a cool breeze
is gift
But there is more:
the cicadeas’ hypnotic serenade
and Mockingbird—
so often silent in summer—
singing a concert.
Mockingbird is
always around,
though not always singing,
or, sometimes, singing
at midnight.
I sometimes think Mockingbird
follows me,
or flies ahead
as I walk or work.


Mockingbird that came close to porch in July

Earlier in the summer,
came very close
day after day
during my front porch sits.
Over the years,
Mockingbird messages,
silent as these are,
have been clear:
“I am here.”
“Sing your own song.”
“Listen to each other’s true song/self.”
“We are sisters.”

it was breathtaking
last Sunday morning
as I was standing in the kitchen window
at my friends’ house in the city
when a tiny bird
flew onto the lip of a flower pot
on the porch outside the window
and sat there,
perched precariously,
and looked toward the window.
Its body twittering with life,
it was unmistakably
a Mockingbird fledgling.
I froze,
watching intently,
capturing the moment,
knowing this moment
sort of together
would be brief.
And it flew away.
But the gift
had been given.
“Something new
is being born: Not just sisters—
of one essence,
we are.”