as the wee bird told stories from the forest
stories of the fawn that pranced through
and where the mushrooms grew
the bird told about the squirrel that stole the swallows eggs
about the snail eggs that were growing along the waters edge
It sang from dawn to dusk
about the life its lived and things its seen
I have been drawing birds on hands for years
I wonder if doing so is what inspired this
interaction to actually happen?!
It is a sweet sharing, makes my heart sing.
I take it quite seriously, like caring for a pet.
I do not walk out the door without a pouch of seed on me.
It is not a good feeling when the little feathered friends land on a branch next to me
making their teeny sound which mean:
Then patiently waits for me to pull seed out of the pouch and it then descends to my finger tips
wishing you magic in your days and in your dreams