All along the fringes of the roadside, they gather, twittery as ballroom dancers, to do the redwing foxtrot, the blackbird cha-cha. Or they stud the pasture fences with glossy haute couture, and look with classic bird hauteur at the jit- ter bug- ging magpies in the filaree. Listen! the field’s their church— that’s why they mambo in the morning sun.
Susan Kelly-DeWitt | Beginning Again Contents | Mudlark No. 46 (2012)