My backyard: A Prose Poem in Process

The birds flitter, fight, swoop, peck, jump, perch, bicker, push, struggle, eat, gorge, fly, hop, flutter, chirp, fuss, fly, nudge, defy gravity and each other, swing, defecate, hang, fall, toss seed, maneuver, protect their space, protect their mate, fly to feed their children, turned their beaks up at the beef suet I lay out for them (my first grade teacher said they loved it, but maybe not in muggy Georgia).  Pigeons, woodpeckers, cardinals, robins, starlings, no-names, thrushes, more cardinals, purple martins, jays, hatches, and more pigeons. 

 (I have two birdfeeders and they provide soothing moments. The birds really like black oil sunflower seeds, which was recommended for the new feeder.) 

This morning the feeders were well nigh empty, and the cardinals were chattering and gathering in a way that reminded me of Walmart shoppers looking for their favorite toilet paper in April 2020.

My mother loved "red birds," a common sentiment in Appalachia. I am finishing a novel about Appalachian characters, so I will memorialize my mother's love for them