Sometimes he walks before the town wakes up.

He walks a path down by the bay.

It’s usually quiet and serene…usually…but not this day.


Usually he walks in silence

where only the softest sounds are heard

that changed when he reached the center of town

and was confronted…by a bird.


A mockingbird began chirping loudly

then she flew around his head…

She stopped on the sidewalk in front of him…

“Follow me.” She said.


At least that’s what he thought she said.

After all…he didn’t understand a word

for he is just a man

and she…a mockingbird.


But he followed her across the street

where she landed in a tree

and as she kept chirping loudly he wondered

‘What does she want from me?’


He saw that she was in her nest

making bird sounds he’d never heard

and then he saw what she was fussing about…

On the ground…a baby mockingbird.


Her baby must have fallen 

and here she came to rest

so gently…softly…he picked her up

and returned her to the nest.


The mother mockingbird thanked him

He could see it in her eyes

And he smiled as he walked away

listening to a mockingbird lullaby.


At least he thought it was a lullaby

After all…he didn’t understand a word

for he is just a man


and she…a mockingbird.

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When we arrive at the cabin each year the first thing we always do

(a tradition we’ve come to adore)

is head into town, buy a fern and hang it by our front door.


We enjoy the beauty it provides …everyday for us to see…

It’s a little nod to nature and her simplicity.


From it’s spot looking out over the forest the fern is happy we believe

catching just enough rain and sunlight while protected by the eave.


The other day we heard a noise and we were surprised to learn

a little bird was standing on the rail…eyeing our hanging fern…


We started noticing her a little more…and immediately we guessed

that little bird, inside that fern,…was building herself a nest.


And from the safety of our window…we’d watch her bring twigs held in her beak

and the nest she built within that fern…she’d completed in a week.


We’ve had many visitors to the cabin this summer…

who’ve stayed a little while then off they roam…

but only one of our visitors…has built herself a home…


We’re leaving in a few days.

We may not see her little family I fear…

but perhaps she’ll bring them back to visit


when we hang our fern next year.l

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My mother’s canary

My mother loves many kinds of animals but most of all, she loves canaries. Since I can remember she has always had many types of birds in the house. Some were colorful, sometimes yellow, blue or red and other times they were gray and white. A few of them used to sing very beautiful melodies and others were so quiet that you could ask yourself if they were mute or simply they didn’t know how to sing. Most of them have died over the years or my mother has given them to her sisters, Mary and Marthis. Now she has this small canary with white and black spots, that my aunt Mary gave to her as a birthday gift three or four years ago. My mother says that the canary is a female and she calls her Bonita. She lives in a white and orange house-shaped cage, inside of it is a little blue swing, two sticks where she rests and on the floor is her food and water containers. My mother is very careful and responsible with her little canary. Every morning she cleans her cage changing the newspaper in the floor for a new one and bringing her food and water. My mother says that this canary is very different than the others that she used to have because every time she puts clean water in the cage, the little bird takes a bath. Also, when Bonita wants to go out, she chirps. This little white and black canary doesn’t sing marvelous melodies but if you whistle to her, she will reply. It feels like she is talking to you because she does different tones depending on the sound of your whistle. Sometimes they are more sharping noises than normal. One day my grandfather visited us and when he saw Bonita he did a little whistle that she answered with a chirp. We all laughed. My father also whistled, except it was an offensive sound, which Bonita also answered; we all laughed hard about that. I think my mother loves to have her because Bonita is her company when my sister and I are not in the house. Also, she makes her happy when she chirps, and she loves her color and little shape.  But deep inside I think that canaries remind my mother her childhood and youth, when she used to live at my grandmother’s home because her mother also loved birds. I believe that she loves having birds because of that and I didn’t realize that until writing these words.

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