the balance of the blue jay
spirit and smol birb
12-28-2021, 04:24 PM
The thickets’ sturdy trees and thick branches provided a plethora of hiding spots for any bird, and Aster loved weaving her way through the upper canopy to find the perfect perch. Birdsongs filled the air—from more species than Aster could distinguish with their chirps overlapping so—and her heart longed to fill the air with her own calls. What else was a bird to do after grabbing grubs in the morning?
Aster landed on a sturdy birch overlooking the sea. The cliffs protected her against the ocean’s breeze, and the mirror-like quality of the waters were as alluring as glittering gold. This was the perfect spot to sing; she breathed in deep, and began her song.
“All the flowers are sleeping,
A feather blanket of snow
Over them.
Blue Jay balances on a dry old sunflower's bent head.”
Aster swayed on the branch, as much from the wind as her own innate desire to feel the rhythm of the song move through her body.
“She dives under . . .
She strikes out seeds with angry beak.
Her wings are barred with frost,
Her snow-dusty feet
Are like dull crystal.”
// Poem is Blue Jay by by Hilda Conkling
Aster landed on a sturdy birch overlooking the sea. The cliffs protected her against the ocean’s breeze, and the mirror-like quality of the waters were as alluring as glittering gold. This was the perfect spot to sing; she breathed in deep, and began her song.
“All the flowers are sleeping,
A feather blanket of snow
Over them.
Blue Jay balances on a dry old sunflower's bent head.”
Aster swayed on the branch, as much from the wind as her own innate desire to feel the rhythm of the song move through her body.
“She dives under . . .
She strikes out seeds with angry beak.
Her wings are barred with frost,
Her snow-dusty feet
Are like dull crystal.”
// Poem is Blue Jay by by Hilda Conkling