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Sermons on Leaves
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One bird makes a small song
Unless a condor
Or a million of its own,
Whatever kind
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I’m not thinking of Hitchcock
But of Francis
Who preached to birds
Because humans wouldn’t listen
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In response,
A little bit invested
From each one
Raises the songs of saints,
Reinvesting into land
Then
Traversing through the sky
And now orbiting
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A song to welcome
Visitors,
Aliens or angels,
To Earth
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A hybrid song
Is and shows
The way
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C L Couch
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Photo by Paul Teysen on Unsplash
Nachtegalenhof, Antwerpen, België
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clcouch123 
January 30, 2021 at 4:51 pm
Spring is on the way.
January 30, 2021 at 9:42 pm
It is, isn’t it? One of our bloggers lives in the south of France, where it always seems temperate. Sigh. I do like having season, though.
January 30, 2021 at 9:43 pm
That should be seasons. Another reason to sigh.
January 31, 2021 at 9:37 am
Francis was right. Better to talk to the birds, you get more sense in reply. Even in the winter they sing. It’s only when some of the centre stage singers go quiet that I notice the thrush for example that never stops even in the height of gales and storms.
January 31, 2021 at 2:57 pm
I didn’t know that about the thrush, singing in gales. Conversing with the storms or with other thrushes to be careful?
January 31, 2021 at 7:48 pm
I’m not sure why they do it. We have two kinds of thrush, the song thrush which is the one I hear all through the winter and the missel thrush which has a slightly less complex song, but seems to like singing in the tops of trees beaten by storms. It’s called the storm cock.