All five sides of the dry chill-weary
backyard bare their chests to the bright and
useless morning sun. Birds are hard at
work—all five sides—plucking seeds—sprucing
nests—preening in the loose dirt. Ready
or not, they say, here we are, back in
place. Ordinariness stands firmly
in its place—all five sides. But then. Watch
now. Right along with the Chickadees,
Thrushes and Robins, a stranger—white
dollops on sleek black wings, orange-tawny
chest and glassy black head—settles in,
right at home. From where? How? A Grosbeak—
here—this here. A Grosbeak—now—this now!
