The Dunnock

In brittle silence of a frosted morn
he sang; a song of coloured notes
that shivered hoar from crooked branch,
and trembled on the crusted spider's web.
A rainbow song, now tinting dawn's
first misted breath with subtle hues
of golden days to come.
 
 How drab this bird, this Pan, that
called the drowsy Snowdrops from their
sleep and piped sweet-smelling
Jasmine's wayward climb.  How dull
his livery of grey and brown,
engraved against the rising
sun's weak light.
 
He hid among entangled twigs and
sang, until it seemed, his
heart, like swollen buds,
would burst, cascading
heated passion on the ground
and melt cold earth to
crocus-coloured hues.
 
How the Mother Earth
did smile, as
she gave this modest
envoy of the Spring,
all her subtle colours
to his song.


Written by Bodiceane Smith - "retired, a mother of two sons and grandmother to four - 3 grandsons and a granddaughter"



The Dunnocks were frantically busy in the garden this morning, flirting and flitting, then disappearing into one of the smaller bushes with bits and pieces of twig and moss for nest building.  You could almost miss them, with their unobtrusive brown and grey feathers, but their joyous warbling jumble of shrill little notes always gives their presence away.

Mum and I have been busy today too, running lots of errands, and she's just turned in for the night at a quarter to nine completely flaked out.  I don't think I shall be too late myself.  It's tiring work being retired...  ;-)