Member-only story
A Bird on a Branch
Hidden in plain sight
I can hear you spilling a bright melody
from a naked branch high above,
as yet unclothed by Spring;
but I cannot see you, feathered sprite,
though I strain and stare
through eyes grown red with unshed tears.
What magic do you conjure,
What cloak of invisibility do you wear
as you unfurl your soul , ignoring me
earthbound creature that I am
wishing I could with one bold leap
reach the top of the tree
there to sing beside you
hidden in plain sight,
finding at last my best, true life.
Birds are a kind of living metaphor, aren’t they?
How can any of us listen to a bird, watch it fly, and if we are lucky, catch its eye and exchange a confidence or two without wishing we could, even for a moment, share its vivid life?
We can learn quite a bit from watching birds. Here’s another poem published in Scribe that I hope you will enjoy.
