they come for the water


we turn the spigot counter clockwise and they seem to sense it within nanoseconds. the cool water cascades in a mist through the wild bird area in the back yard and the little beaks explode with mirth and chatter as they flit the branches of our serviceberry bush. never used to pay much attention to these little guys until marriage introduced me to recognition of finer things.

years ago, when hiking alone in various wild areas, i would hear the long sustained call of the chicadee when looking for his mate in the spring. it was so repeated and monotonous that i just called it the monotony bird when asked. but they have a lot of vocabulary. the best is the cheery chatter of falling water on a hot day.


  1. It’s funny, but I started reading these paragraphs as a poem from the first word on. Then I did a double take (these are paragraphs here after all) and started over but it still read as a poem. Am I correct here? Whatever it is, good work.

  2. “thanks for writing this blog; the chickadee prose is beautiful!

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