As I step from my car, the chickadee darts
from the spruce to the lilac and perches there
singing his cheery hello. No matter what,
he always makes me smile, and I chirp back
and we have a little conversation.
Before – I measure time that way now,
as “before” and “after” – Before the fire,
the uncontrolled explosion, a dozen came, more,
titmice mixed in, bouncing from branch to branch,
chattering away, grabbing some seeds.
Now it’s one or two, sometimes three.
I miss them.
But this precious one is chirping as if he is so glad
for morning, and seeds, and the lady who chirps back
and smiles. No matter what.