Little birds

Flocks of little birds are migrating through the garden. I stalk them, like a cat, but they flit and fidget and fly away together.

Photo: Silvereye in maple tree

Words to walk with:
From Song-Bird by Brian Vrepont
“Listen! He starts … he ends;
A quicksilver run on the blood
Of a bird, a shy bird
In a cotton-tree; all depends
On the stillness, his flood
Would parch if you but stirred
To pluck a bud.”