Small Birds That Stay Trading Places with Big Birds That Go

In this late September sky, small birds that stay have traded places with big birds that go.

The lakeside children have dispersed against the up-hill trees, their shatter and hum voices thinning to whispers.

The final cutting of hay lies afield in neatly stitched rows of green bales.

All doors now closed against the morning chill.

The broad blonde seas of grass remain calm.

The mountains tall and silent as a dry stream.

Enough, then, the small birds that splash into disarray from their neat power-line rows.

Enough, the so-blue-it-startles sky.

--Mitchell Hegman