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I heard the cry of birds chickadees

Calling chickadee dee dee

From a tree branch near my back door.

It mattered not to them that every other limb

Wore thick white tufts of snow and ice;

That the air outside was minus ten degrees celcius

Or that the weather forecasters had proclaimed

A major chance of freezing rain to shelter from

Coming within a matter of hours.

What, it seemed to me, the birds did care about

Was that the sun in the sky seemed just a little warmer

Than it had been, and that somewhere in their avian brains

They knew that snow or not, the sap was beginning to run

And that meant old seeds to pick and leaf buds to nibble

Or maybe small insects were beginning to stir in otherwise cold

Tree branches.

I stood and stared in that cold open door

While I waited for our nonchalant puppy

To finish bounding in snow banks,

A huge lump of black sinking into not so pristine white

My toes turning cold and just listening to

The sweet sounds of these first harbingers of spring.

When the winter's snow fell and the ground froze

And these little birds went wherever they go at that time

The world was a rather different place.

They wouldn't know that banks collapsed next door

And jobs were being lost in the thousands

And that interest rates and gas prices fell

Or that seniors saw their retirement funds vanish

And others their entire fortunes disappear

Seemingly overnight.

And I don't think they'd really understand

The importance of a Democrat, the first black man

Becoming President of our neighboring country

Or know that the busses in our neighboring city went on strike

For 52 days. People walked, or drove, and would have envied them

Their ability to fly had they been around then.

Not that little wild birds care about such things.

No, they care about the length of the daylight and

The strength of the sun's rays on feathered wings

They care about seeds hanging from branches

And twigs and bits of string with which to build a nest

And what would be the safest spot to construct

Away from the prying paws of squirrels and dare I say it

Cats, my own sweet housecats fearsome

Feline hunters when faced by something small.

Regardless, I watch these two wee birds hopping gently from

Branch to branch and marvel at their agility

And ability to remind me

That no matter what

The cold will pass, the sun will warm the earth

Flowers will bloom and grass will grow

Laughter and the sounds of life will soon enough

Fill the once frozen air

Irrespective of portfolios and General Motors

Uninhibited by reluctant bankers and layoff notices.

As it should be.

Learn more about this author, Catherine M. Harris.
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