Overnight, the maple’s red buds burst,
freeing their tiny leaves to reach for the sky.
They etch a scarlet lace against the deep blue
where days ago, there were but bare twigs.
From one of the high branches, a call
sounded forth, clear and high, a single note
followed by a pause and then repeated.
From across the way an answer came,
filling the pauses, and waiting for a reply.
Back and forth the two birds called
to one another, as if their sole mission
was to mark the opening of the buds,
and their song went on and on.