The Evening Stage

Evening serenade:

Gray Catbird carrying on
near my left ear,
Yellow-throated Vireo
singing from the right.

Air;
dead calm,
warm and humid.

The woods are filling
with the fresh green
of new leaves
in deep spring.

A Pileated Woodpecker
cackles in flight
from the north woods,
his harsh call traveling
west to east.

Gray Tree Frogs
babble and jabber
while camouflaged 
in the most woods.

Sandhill Cranes 
yodel from the distant bog;
sounding like they're 
gargling pebbles.


And the light ‒
it's always about
the light ‒

catches the edges 
of soft cumulus
slowly sailing to the northeast

where a Phoebe 
repeats its plaintive call.

A light-green inchworm
climbs its own
swaying strand 
of silver silk.

As dusk approaches,
ready to slide 
over the end of the day,
the season's first 
Wood Thrush
sings sweetly
into the diminishing light,
and the Chorus Frogs
in the wetland
take their turn
to perform
on the evening stage.

© 2015 Richard Havenga