the blackbird with the red wing.
To give notice that our spring arrived
while singing songs from past memories.
I ignore the Vernal equinox
that's not truly true spring around here.
It is the day of the red-winged arrival
to summer fields they now call home.
 |
| From a previous year. |
Memories of listening to the call of the red-winged blackbird filled each summer that we spent at my maternal grandparent's farm. The humid and hot July and August days were filled with the cocaphony of the males calling while perched like pictured above.
Here is an example of their call (unfortunately, I don't have a video available of my own):
Linked at Poets and Storytellers United: Writers' Pantry #10: March is a month of considerable contemplation
This is one of my favourite bird songs. Robins are still the first bird of spring here, cardinals and chickadees remain all year, but the Red-Winged Blackbird is a signal of warmth to me.
ReplyDeleteThey bring back the memories of youth and signal that it's (almost) spring.
DeleteThanks, Lori. I'm glad I could share a favorite bird.
This is a lovely, almost fairy-tale, poem. I don't think I've ever seen a red-winged blackbird, gorgeous bird.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Chrissa. These birds have a special place for us here at the farm and I could share. I glad you liked them.
DeleteIt is so interesting to understand the birds and what they mean in different part of the world. For me it's the european blackbird who is probably not even related that sings in the spring.
ReplyDeleteThanks for letting me know of the european blackbird. I'll have to learn more. The red-winged is meaningful to us and part of a larger story I'm working on.
DeleteSuch a beautiful herald of spring! Yes, thoughts go to planting soon........
ReplyDeleteThank you, Sherry. I'm glad you stopped by. Hopefully this will be a production season this year.
DeleteThis is absolutely delightful, Joel!💝 I love the red-winged blackbird. Spring is just around the corner!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Sanaa. I'm glad you liked this. These birds are an honored sentinel of the farm.
DeleteI'm with you, in often ignoring the calendar. I prefer feeling the seasons in my bones, letting the change seep into my eyes... showing me the world as it turns in the Wheel.
ReplyDeleteFeeling the seasons in one's bones could be painful ;) - the seasons are in the heart. Even in winter, the yearning of summer can drive out the doldrums.
DeleteThank you for sharing, Magaly.
Great, feel good words. Heartwarming.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Anthony. I'm sure these will be the subject of many more contributions.
DeleteTres belle.
ReplyDeleteMerci - Cheers!
DeleteLovely finish to this and I like th emotion that the change of season isn't see by the calendar - but life in the fields.. Lovely!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Scott. I hope this will be a productive season. Last year was a near total loss (in more ways than one.) I'm glad you stopped by.
DeleteThanks for sharing his song. They are harvingers of spring here as well.
ReplyDeleteThe familiar song is welcomed each year and we count the days during winter until we hear it again.
DeleteThank you for stopping by, Beverly.
Gorgeous bird!!! Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Rajani. It will be a subject again as these are a frequent visitor of the farm or I should say a resident of the farm.
DeleteWhat a beautiful poem! And what a pretty bird, with a delightful call. Here in my sub-tropical part of Australia it is the colourful lorikeets that mark the return of Spring, while in more temperate parts of the country it's the swallows – in both cases, birds that dart and swoop and seem full of joy.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Rosemary. I'll look up the lorikeets. Birds have such interesting behavior and songs. We have swallows here that skim across the water to scoop up insects with a single ripple.
DeleteWhen, oh WHEN will I see anything but the damned crows? The wait's killing me.
ReplyDeleteWithout warning color and songs will arrive. As the wind shifts, the songbirds return. At least I hope so for you. Thanks for stopping by, Ron.
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