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All works
© 2004-20010 Mick Zerr
Do Birds Have Christmas?
On a chilly Christmas
morn, as I looked out the window
at a crystal coat of
frost on the Mulberry tree,
I saw a sudden movement,
like a darting shadow,
that quickly transformed,
into a happy Chickadee.
A thought crossed my
mind, as I watched this little friend.
Could I learn the truth,
from a fine-feathered brother?
If the Chickadee could
talk, my ear he would bend.
Do you birds have Christmas,
or is this day just another?
I watched, and listened, for action and sound.
Suddenly, a Brown Creeper,
diving with speed
halted its plunge, a
foot from the ground,
to peck at some old
suet covered with seed.
More tiny friends appeared, to my delight.
The tree filled with blacks, reds and yellows
as Goldfinch and Cardinals
arrived in a flight.
Do birds have Christmas?
Tell me, little fellows.
Some Juncos flew in,
these darts of slate.
They were hopping
and jumping like children at recess,
feeding on seeds
with the ground as their plate.
Do they know of Christmas?
I can only guess.
I pushed close to the
window with my forehead,
as nuthatches and woodpeckers
joined in the throng.
All colors of feathers,
white, black, yellow and red.
Each different, but
the same, all getting along.
I sneaked open the window, and heard them all sing,
At last to my mind came
all the right words.
It was as clear as their
chorus, a choir on the wing.
Birds don’t have Christmas,
Christmas has birds!
By
Mick Zerr, Christmas morning, 2005
An Eurasian Collared Dove sighting from
the birds' point of view.
Peopleing
on 2-19-06
Dear fellow peoplers, it was cold today, but there was plenty of grain at the Corson feed
lot. We were hoping for some birders to add to our life lists, since peopleing has been rather slow due to the weather, and
of course, the constant danger from the Red-tailed ones who could care less about us Peoplers.
We flew near every people’s car that came by, but none seemed interested in us. That
is a slam, since we feel that we are a rare and unique group of flyers, at least in South Dakota. I can’t wait till spring when many People Birders (PB’s) will be out, even though the competition
with the non-residents, especially those fair weather peoplers, the Warblers, will be intense.
We
were about ready to give up when a silver car filled with people came by very slowly. We quickly checked our field guides,
and discovered it was a Honda CRV, a common car for PB’s. If we would be lucky enough to have PB’s in it, it could
be a life-PB for most of us, especially if it contained more than one PB.
One
of our newer members asked how we could tell a PB from a human who has stopped for another reason, and we quickly opened our
field guide and showed him the telltale trait. The Binoculars! But we reminded him that not all PB’s have the same behaviors,
for some have Cameras (p. 32 in the guide), and people who stop and have GUNS, mean fast flying away for us.
Anyway, we were flying all around the silver car and finally it stopped, and lo and behold,
PB’s stepped out. We were so thrilled we Cooed at them, and let them get a good look at us before flying away to tell
others about our sighting. (boy are those Rock Pigeons going to be jealous),
Our new member exclaimed, “I’m hooked, peopleing is fun,
and a lot less dangerous than teasing hunters for thrills!” I was really
happy for him because it is really difficult to get younger birds interested in Peopleing.
From
your Friendly Eurasian Collared Dove Peopleing Club
Inspired
while watching birders at Corson, SD 2006
The Cottonwood
Yes, She saw it all,This beautiful lady so tall,
From the feathered Red-skinned folk
To giant oxen with a yoke.
…..And She saw it all.
My Mother, she was,
I say with a rustling pause.
Of many, I was one who fell from above
To grow and share her protecting love.
Travelers passing noted her charms,
Often taking refuge in her open arms,
Borrowing her firewood on a cold winter morn.
She gave it up to keep them warm.
…..And she saw it all.
Little did she ask,
But a drink from a flask
Rustling a wave goodbye,
With a morning tear in her eye.
Wagan Chan was her first name, they say.
Natives’ words, depicting her restless way,
Sadly, she watched them leave to never return..
Soon others came , some to plow, some to burn.
…..And she saw it all.
Mother grew up in times so bad.
Water was scarce and often not had.
Of a family so large, she was the one
Who survived the longest under the sun.
Fires and critters made times tough
But she came through, looking rough.
Others lived under her protecting hands,
Some from far and distant lands.
…..And she saw it all.
Mother was old, when my roots first came.
She sheltered me from wind and rain.
I sprouted fast, growing close by,
Always under her watchful eye.
Late in the summer of her ending year,
As if she knew her time was drawing near,
She showered the land with silk so white
That little children all loved the sight.
…..And she saw it all.
The storm was strong, her death came fast
Lightning hit, the great Cottonwood fell at last
The ground shook as her friends drew tears
She lay dead, after two hundred years.
As she came to rest all was quiet, and it made sense,
For when a tree falls in the forest, there is a time of total silence
When even the birds show their respect and appreciation.
The creatures all came, some winged, some furred, like a great forest nation.
…..And I saw it all.
Inspired 2007 by a great Cottonwood felled by the wind.
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