Winter silence evaporates like
mist at rising of sun.
Skylarks and thrushes, robins
and blackbirds sing us awake,
tentative at first, then competing,
vying for attention in vernal melodies.
Wrens and warblers patiently
wait out their noisy neighbours.
Louder again they trill, in search
of a likely mate to swipe right,
join in preparing a new nest
for the clutch she will lay.
We are but spectators to this ritual,
an annual enactment of new life.
It doesn’t wait for us, it drives on at
its own pace, no second chances.
But that’s alright. The sound they make
lightens hearts, raises spirits, turns attentions
to that spring awakening, when we might
whistle and hum our own expectations.