The last day of August
was the hottest day of the year
(we had only a few hot ones)—
and at that, a mere 106.
two days into September
and it’s 61 at 6 a.m.
a breath of breeze from the north,
autumn’s light and shadow—
and the view from the porch
try to outmaneuver each other.
Their backs are iridescent green,
shining; their neck collars, white—
as are the scalloped tips of their tiny-feathered tails.
Though there are three feeders,
they won’t eat together;
evidently, only one bird is allowed
at any of the feeders
at any given moment.
Chasing, diving at each other,
they whirr across the front of the porch.
One has learned a trick:
As it’s being chased,
it backs off to the side
hovering in the air,
hiding behind a post,
and when the other hummingbird zips away
this one rushes to the feeder
for a quick sip.
In the sunlight this morning too
are a gleaming Goldfinch
and a bright Baltimore Oriole.
The Oriole hops from branch to branch,
hanging by its feet
to breakfast on Hackberry berries.
rub their wings together,
the comb-like edges
that carries up their open wings
music to female cricket eardrums.
out on the edge somewhere,
drums its stout beak into a tree.
Still air begins to move more now,
gently ringing a wind chime.
Maizey, asleep in her favorite spot
close by on the porch floor,
the finishing note
in this symphony of quiet.
in morning beauty,
I can only muster
for the lives in this neighborhood.