Ode to A Cedar Waxwing

Whistling heard first as you rise and dive overhead.

Traveling in flocks, perhaps with family or even friends, if birds have that sort of thing. I like to think they do. They’re certainly smart enough.

Like a roller coaster you course through the sky, up and down until you find the perch you were seeking. Then your true beauty is revealed.

What was once a yellowish streak in flight blossoms into shades of tan, almond and gray, with yellow underneath. Topped off by a mask of black lined in white, visible and then not as you flick your head from side to side.

Hop hop, you quickly turn around, revealing your namesake. Bright red adorning your wings, as if, you guessed it, they’ve been dipped in wax.

A tropical look for a suburban bird, found wherever berries grow. A jewel seen among the green.

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