Wild, Beautiful, Little Things

Before the sun is fully up Beside the window with my cup I watch them come on silent wings Those wild, beautiful, little things. Each day they visit more and more The feeder by my cabin door Small clans of tiny Chickadees Fluttering in by twos and threes Rush to the feeder, then they search Pecking and flitting perch to perch. Moving too quickly to decide, Their actions have me mystified. A Chickadee does nothing straight, He'll make a dash, then hesitate, It's funny how his body works In little pauses, little jerks. He pecks, and suddenly departs His flight is full of stops and starts. He's up, he's down, then zig and zag Like bird and breeze are playing tag. Just as quick, on a sudden whim, (Who can say what comes over him) He'll stop - it's time to sit and sing. This wild, whimsical, little thing. He swoops up over hills of air And turns sharp corners that aren't there, So quick to move, then quickly pause I think he lives like this because That's the way he's put together, A speck of life, of flesh and feather. Yet, through the raging winter storm With nothing much to keep him warm, Beneath a wing, his head will rest The fire in that small wild breast Defies the frost the cold night brings And with the dawn, he wakes and sings. From tales and legends, I would guess, We've filled a fabled wilderness With sounds of nature in the raw As brutes do battle tooth and claw In some harsh land of ice and snow Where most of us don't care to go. But the wild call that beckons me Is a soft sweet song, chickadee-dee-dee.