This morning, just a few mallards
nosed their way through the pond,
past fresh green marsh grasses
hinting at spring. I walked along
a suburban sidewalk,
houses shuttered, anonymous,
the wind hardly moving.
Yet the pine trees filled with sparrows,
and the sparrows huddled in the bushes,
scattered before me, then
gathered together again,
this February morning
all gladdened by their little bird songs.