As my morning soles cling to the sidewalk
The streets stretch vacant
Save the occasional passing car

The morning briefing from the branches
Is published in the breeze
It’s pressed in the mist over the river
Where it’s drawn back up into circulation by the rising sun

Too-wheeted in a flurry of whistles and calls
The treetop headlines reign over the quiet streets
And I wonder what they report:

The Forsythia have reached their peak of flowering, azaleas are beginning to bud

Squirrels report lowest number of deaths in decades

Two legged concrete-dwellers remain in their nesting boxes…

Day Seven of Na/GloPoWriMo challenged us to write a poem based on a news article. I instead chose to imagine what kind of news the morning bird calls herald. I am struck lately with the vibrancy of their song in the relative stillness of the world these days.