Summer and fall
little brown birds
and bees pollinate
the weeping holly
doing their parts for
the trees to bear fruit.

By early December
I have only to open the blinds
to see my Christmas tree
decorated by nature,
my only job is to be thankful.

The advent of spring,
weather still chilled
invites the cedar waxwings
to pick the berries.
Wooshing fluttering wings
surely hundreds altogether
announce the advance
of the berry picking flock.

They fly off just as loudly
to rest on the yonder willow trees
catching their breaths
looking back at the berries,
or maybe at me in my delight and awe.

Soon they take flight again
swarming in for their next wave
until not one berry is left;
in preparation
for the cycle to begin again.

©2009 by Shari Lynne Smothers

Mom first noticed
the bird setting up home
in her hanging basket.

I saw the bird there
the day after,
and thought I felt something.

Once, I lifted my nephew
because even standing on the chair
he couldn’t see it.

We still kept our distance.

One windy day I was closing the umbrellas.
It was my first time alone with her
and I swear

I could feel her warding me off
away from her eggs and her.
The air seemed dank, was rife

with the protective vibe:
vigilant mother bird
with one false move by me

was likely to peck my eyes out.

©2009 by Shari Lynne Smothers