Upstream from Blackbird Bend

The buntings were singing in the branches.
The vireos were in an angry chase,
And the ovenbird called out for you,
Just before the flutes of the wood thrushes
Began to weave their magic.

You stopped to show me where you met the bobcat
(And how it saved you that night),
And I shared my secrets about the buntings.
So when you finally saw one,
You’ll never forget it.

Over plates of fried catfish that night,
We realized that we are becoming the elders.
Even by sharing our secrets,
It does not seem to be enough.
We are not ready for this.

But the flutes play on…