if i could believe in one thing
it would be this:
in the first foggy light of fall mornings
a mixed flock of tits and chickadees
visits the maple tree outside my window.
i can’t count how many,
they flit too quickly from
branch to branch,
fluttering in and out of sight.
sometimes they pluck
at the tufts of soft moss.
sometimes they hover,
pecking the undersides
of the last, brown leaves.
sometimes they make the faintest
like tiny bells.
it takes only a few minutes
for them to finish their work,
and then they move on into the forest
leaving me behind,
for yet another fall day.