Birdbrain

In the time before Covid,

I was up before the birds.

Always rushing out the door,

with nary a peep to be heard.

Off to an empty classroom,

I was there before the sun.

By the time I came home,

its setting had just begun.

Then one day, a lock down appeared.

"Take home your computers, you won't be back here!"

Spring Break emerged in a time most uncertain;

for the first time, I saw dawn through my curtain.

The morning embraced me like a new-found friend.

No longer rushing off, I could see my birds again.

Each morning I rise to a house no longer quiet;

the still rooms echoing to an outside avian riot.

The finches are screaming their horrid complaints

to the bluejays who keep seed behind their winged gates.

The cardinals arrive with seldom a care,

their flights tell me they are a newly mated pair!

The ravens circle above as if I gave them their cue;

they never stray far, they're the ones I rescued.

My cup of tea finished, I must head inside.

My students await, questions rolling like a tide.

In times of uncertainty, I know only this:

it's these simple pleasures that just can't be missed.