Phoebe

In early April, when the air no longer stings
and the new green stems of the allium sprout,
my thoughts turn to the Maine island
tucked in Penobscot bay between cape and sea.
I imagine the Eastern Phoebe
nesting in the rafters by our front door
like she has faithfully for 6 years running.

Soon, I’ll take wing and fly to meet her.
We will whisper hello but otherwise
work silently side by side on our spring projects:
She sleeping on her clutch and keeping watch;
Me preparing the garden beds and clay pots.

After, we’ll rest together by the Rosa Ragusa.
She’ll snatch bugs in flight for her brood
and I will watch, nourished
by the beauty of just watching
while the days grow longer
and the beach becomes wider and its slope gentler.

Just before the summer solstice
the fledglings hop, flutter and practice flight.
Soon they’ll fly away without a sound.
She and I will soar proudly above
satisfied our spring duties are fulfilled
before summer sets in.