Way up in the sky
Is where the little birds fly.
And down in the valley
The little birds rest.
With a wing on the left
And a wind on the right,
The little birds sleep
All through the night.
Then up comes the sun
And the dew goes away.
"Good morning, good morning!"
The little birds say.
I walked through our neighborhood this morning, listening to all of the voices singing. The voices were of the feathered variety, and there were sure a lot of them! It seems that every tree had birds tucked among the branches. There were chirpers and tweeters, squawkers and even a few warblers. I wish I knew enough about birds to be able to identify their songs, but I love listening to them. Our street sounded like Saturday morning at the Tweedlebug market, Good morning to you, too!
The weather has turned cold, and the summer birds are gone. I've just started seeing a few of our winter birds, but in the middle are the migrating birds that stop in for a few nights. Our street is lined with trees, a good 30 to 40 years old. They aren't anything like the trees we had in our neighborhood in Washington State - those were enormous and stately. No, here they are much shorter, suburban trees, but that means the birds are closer to the ground.
I grinned as I walked home, pulling my thin jacket closer around me. The weather forecast said it would snow today. I was glad that all my birdie friends were wearing down coats. I ducked my head under the branches of one tree, half its golden leaves still shivering on the branches. As I did, the tree came to life and a whole flock of little birds whooshed out. The chilly breeze seemed to pick them up and whisk them right away. I was impressed with how much noise their tiny wings made.
I guess if we work together, we can do amazing things. Or just be more noisy. My twins have that one down.
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