If there are no birds in Heaven, I don’t want to go. What good would the world be- Without an avian ditty, tune, or soprano?Neither cardinal’s laser-gun trill, Nor chickadees on the sill. No muted crankings of homebound geese, Or sparrow’s susurrations soft like fleece,
Eagle skims low over ebbing tide.
Folkboats leans in mangrove mud.
Angophora swallows her path; we wait—
there, white belly, vast wings,
thermal lift to Hawkesbury mist.
I suspect that songbirds will sing together more harmoniously than even the starlings dancing in winter’s breeze.