Morning Talk

I like to think that poems come to me ... and they will, I've discovered, if I can just sit still in one place long enough.

This one may not have come to me, exactly, but I found the material for it in the tree just outside my window. I sat listening to a certain sound, then located its source ... and watched.
From there it was simply a matter of putting my impressions on paper before they ... the impressions, that is ... flew away.
I admit that I found more than just the sights and sounds of a mother-and-daughter exchange between two cardinals to write about.
Before I'd finished, I couldn't resist drawing the parallel between these two beautiful little creatures and the rest of us ... we superior beings who "own" so much of this material world ... and are, perhaps, so bent on possessing more of it ... that we neglect to build little bridges between us ... particularly between the generations.
End of sermon. And now, on to the poem:

MORNING TALK
Amid a rising tide of summer sounds,
I slowly become aware of one pair
catching my ear more than the others.

Then there they are, a mother cardinal
and her offspring, flitting and talking
to each other in the blue spruce.

Talking of food, perhaps, or safety
in these thick boughs, weighty subjects,
or maybe just chit-chat between

this mother and her young daughter.
I have no way of knowing, but they
seem to have found an understanding,

a quiet accord, like a gently swaying
footbridge between the generations,
that we humans keep hoping to find.
© 2003
(originally published in Capper's)

***

Today's word: chit-chat

LOOKING BACK – I don't do a lot of that ... looking back, that is ... but I was going through some old binders ... getting rid of things, downsizing, if you will ... and came across a printout of one of my outgoing e-mails from January 27, 2002, Subj: Scribblings.

Oh, did that bring back some memories! I notice that it went to 18 recipients, included a copy of my poem, "Only the Best Will Do" ... and opened with some meandering thoughts about "Scribblings ... by Robert L. Brimm."
Scribblings was my web page ... on AOL, if memory serves me right ... but (sniffle-sniffle) that page has since ceased to exist. It was fun while it lasted, though ... with an offering of a poem and some chit-chat about what inspired it. Sound familiar? 
I noted that there had been 363 visitors to the page since its beginning on January 8 ... but I was wondering why there had been so few visitors over that most recent weekend.
Maybe it was because my writing had put everybody to sleep.
Anyway, I noted that we were off to a good start toward our first million visitors to the page, adding ... "Also, if just one of you would click on Scribblings, that would get us off that uneven number."
Oh, that uneven number ... there was just something about being stuck on an uneven number, I guess.
So much for looking back ... for now ... maybe we can do it again some time. Meanwhile, thanks for stopping by.
Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
I know that feeling Magran. I feel like a "taker," myself, when I fall behind ... as I often do ... with my responses to the comments I find here. I'm still "sprinting," of course ... typing as fast as I can, but at brief intervals ... for various reasons. On the other hand, I take great comfort in knowing there are those who come by for a visit ... even if they don't feel like chatting. When I look at the counter, it's like hearing their quiet footsteps as they approach, read a bit, then go on to re-enter the busy whirl of their lives. So, Magran, you ... and they ... are not just "takers," but "givers," too ... and those visits ... yes, even the quiet ones ... help to keep me going ... and going ... and going.