by Angel Murray
There is a musical outside my window though the orchestra is obscured; the heart shaped leaves of the redbud tree shelter the hearty song of at least six birds, each a different variety. There are flashes of brightest blue and russet, the quavering warble of a Cape May, and a single Crow sitting stoically on a high sunlit branch. The bluebirds are my favorite, flitting to and fro, their color bright as their tiny soprano voices against every possible backdrop. There a goldfinch gently lit, barely bowing the thinnest of stems, and off he flies in search of a thistle seed. A car drives past, radio loud, the thump-a-rump of the sound system scattering players from the stage. My tree is silent, one crow watching the sun track lower in the western sky.
Angel Murray is a writer and project manager in Atlanta. She blogs here.