The birds woke me up this morning with some new sounds.

I can never memorize which is which, all of it is musical.  It’s as though

the sun switched on the light and surprised them all.

 

And so it is every sunrise.  I could invent a name for every birdcall,

a different name for each day.  They wouldn’t care.  The songs would

stay the same, perhaps with a mutant variation from year to year.

 

I am the one who would change.  My voice would be deeper, my text

would vary in cadence.  My feathers would turn grey, my wings shorter.

If she could see me now, my mother would find me changed beyond

recognition.

 

©  Ella Wagemakers, 01.56 Dutch time (= 19.56 EST in the US)