In the photo, a tiny wren stalks spiders among the logs.
Below a catbird calling into the coming storm.
He mimics the things he likes from other bird's songs and adds his own ‘mew’ here and there.
He keeps his prayer under his tongue.
In his whole life he has never missed the rising of the sun.
He dislikes snow.
But a few raisins give him the greatest delight.
He sits in the forelock of the lilac, or he struts
in its shadow. …Mary Oliver