Feast Of The Cedar Waxwings

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Abstract

Eleven O’Clock, White Mulberry Tree, you know the one — its fruit has ripened.Spectating, I gaze up. There are too many birds to count, flicking yellow-tipped tail feathers flitting from one branch to the next. Masked bandits, crested heads — who would dare disturb their feasting folly, such happiness?It’s a party! They swing from branch to branch acrobatic antics, show-offs, and fools, the sweet juice inciting a tone of joyous riotousness: It is a feast! Cardinals, sparrows, and brown thrashers throw looks of scorn at the jolly flock that has overtakenthe familiar mulberry tree. What nerve! Still, the show goes on! I stand beneath, several m

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inutes marching on. I wonder: When will they tire? When will this end? And, with a WHOOSH, the uncountable flockascends, escapes the hovering turkey buzzard creating uneasy shadows. I wait several minutes wondering if the flock will return, and when. Alas, the waxwings are gone; it’s almost quiet again. Cardinal, brown thrasher and sparrowgo about their business, relieved. Mockingbird resumes her many songs. Lo, later in the afternoon, I hear the ceaseless chatter emanating from the mulberry tree — Cedar waxwings have returned for more fruit.The feast does not yet end. Feast, feast, glorious feast of berries and friends.</article></body>

A Feasting Poem

It’s a gluttonous, lawless feast of the masses today. Cedar waxwings are partaking in an all-out, old-school, toga-style party, save the date — Thursday, Eleven O’Clock, White Mulberry Tree, you know the one — its fruit has ripened.

Spectating, I gaze up. There are too many birds to count, flicking yellow-tipped tail feathers flitting from one branch to the next. Masked bandits, crested heads — who would dare disturb their feasting folly, such happiness?

It’s a party! They swing from branch to branch acrobatic antics, show-offs, and fools, the sweet juice inciting a tone of joyous riotousness: It is a feast! Cardinals, sparrows, and brown thrashers throw looks of scorn at the jolly flock that has overtaken

the familiar mulberry tree. What nerve! Still, the show goes on! I stand beneath, several minutes marching on. I wonder: When will they tire? When will this end? And, with a WHOOSH, the uncountable flock

ascends, escapes the hovering turkey buzzard creating uneasy shadows. I wait several minutes wondering if the flock will return, and when. Alas, the waxwings are gone; it’s almost quiet again. Cardinal, brown thrasher and sparrow

go about their business, relieved. Mockingbird resumes her many songs. Lo, later in the afternoon, I hear the ceaseless chatter emanating from the mulberry tree — Cedar waxwings have returned for more fruit.

The feast does not yet end. Feast, feast, glorious feast of berries and friends.