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Writing

Winged Mystery

Today, a lovely
yet unfamiliar voice
creates ripples
in the stillness
of the morning.

The elegant,
fluting call,
spiraling gracefully
up and down,

is as near
as the plants
outside my window
and yet
utterly foreign.

I haven’t seen
his face;
don’t know
his name—

I know nothing
about him
but the sound
of his voice,

yet already
he has
stirred my imagination
and captured my heart
with his enchanting song.

Who is he—
this winged man
of mystery?

What does
he look like?

Where did
he come from—

and why now,
after all these years?

There is so much
I want to know.

For now,
I have the beauty
of his song,

and the beauty
of the mystery—

and that
is more than
enough.

 
   

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