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.