Like the Songbirds Painting

keel billed toucan inspired by the photography of Zdenek Machacek Like the Songbirds... I walk along Deer Valley Road to see the birds perch on stucco roofs, on the tops of the lamp posts or on the limbs of the palo verde tree, its trunk and branches like smooth, green elephant skin I hear the songs, a chamber orchestra of many voices they are staccato, rhythmic, a shout, a whisper I do not know the names of the birds but I know them. Their names are their songs There is playful piccolo, frenetic flute, mournful French horn, There is a lone voice somewhere above me, an owl echoing his love in the early morning sky it is a piercing song, wild and atonal impassioned, fervent, For many years I was the violin, the melody-maker, belting, brassy, a flamboyant peacock, wearing my song like a strapless gown, a glittering necklace about my throat Now, I am the cello the cello is more demure the cello listens I no longer make money singing. Like the songbirds, I sing for no reason but to let the world know I am here, that I am soaring in a magnificent sky, that I live and love, that the world, despite its cacophony, will hear my heart