Three o’clock in the morning

driving west down the turnpike

chasing down the moon

it’s not quite full

my mind overflowing

want to run on empty…


hours later

for a moment

it drains quick

and here I am,

now feeding birds

at the Quabbin,

precious life

eating from my palm.


a beautiful thing.


all too rare in man

but here the chickadee

and the titmouse

the kinglet

and the nuthatch

and all their songbird friends

find their faith rewarded,

and they eat their fill

and I am reminded

that I’m just one part

of this great big universe

no better,

no worse

than the songbirds

my friends,

happy to ring in the new year

with song and feast

and for a moment

on this cold


New England

New Year’s Day

I have again found peace


in the overgrown orchard


in the present

with no fear of tomorrow,

and no tears

for yesterday.

songbird who sings