Another nuthatch visit. This time, while I was filling the birdbath, one came down from the birch tree and landed on the edge, within two feet of where I was standing. Was the drink it took meant to satisfy it, or me? Both — and the water itself.
There is no such thing as a foreign language in this musical world.
September 9, 2021
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Birches, Birdbaths, Diaries, Haibun, Haiku, Journals, Language, Music, Nuthatches, Poems, Poetry, Water, Words
William Michaelian 