I have stood beneath the red maple until light-headed, gazing up at its fireworks display– blood-red blooms & samaras beaded with rain. I have listened to the improvised song of a brown thrasher perched in the topmost branches of spring’s fiery crown, been enchanted by its melodic string of churrs & whistles, no beginning or end, just this note and the next, the hope it evokes.
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Felt lifted by this, thank you. I’m a bird lover and I have a red maple. Sadly no thrasher but I’m watching for the goldfinches.
Beautiful!