Among The Chickadees
Contributed by Nan Potts
Shush goes the shovel, through the downy snow;
Hush is the sound of the grass being mowed.
Birds at the feeders,
Some idle, some quick;
Their chirps and cheeps, often herald ones clique.
A scoop and a twist, dumps snow on a ledge;
A trench is dug giving walking a hedge.
The Chickadees flit,
Crisscrossing my ditch;
Magpies arrive, squawk and clash with their pitch.
I pause to watch, this dramatic exchange;
Their maneuvers suggest strategic change.
Their loud vocal tones,
An angrier din;
Demands to Mags, gives a Chickadee win!
The Mags depart, when my shovel resumes;
Victory sounds with excited new tunes.
These clever wee birds,
Know who’s foe and friend;
A frenzied feed marks, a Victory trend.
I pause once more, as a Woodpecker lights;
He stops at the suet for a few bites.
Then he’s off again,
To escape “The Club”;
A solitary fowl, frequents this hub.
Among these birds, who have granted me grace;
I watch and learn how our lives interlace.
Their sub-polar world,
Sometimes harsh and cruel;
Labels them hardy, as a common rule.
A dog at my heels, in my well toiled tracks;
He too has witnessed these birds’ daring acts.
He gazes at me,
With his looks convey;
“We’ll now that’s all done, let’s be on our way!”
With a gentle pet, I resume my slog,
More snow to move, I plod on with the dog.
As I dig and heap,
To sounds of the throng;
My friends in trees, serenade me along.
The morning wanes, and my choral mates too,
Dog and I note how mute voices ensue.
The chit-chatter fades,
The frenzy has died;
No chants to perceive, their songs all have dried.
With this task complete, I shift to more chores,
Whose time, type and effort keep me outdoors.
Exerting my spade,
With snow to my knees;
I’ve filled my stint, among the Chickadees.