Starling Shower
Rain came with the flower moon,
presaged by a deluge of starlings
into the cloister garden,
falling like chattery stars
they festooned the old cherry trees
only lately leafed and now blossoming birds.
Where and how they came
we do not know,
but welcomed their
electric shock of arrival
and the throaty whistle of their calls
as a surge of wild energy exulting
on the edge of Summer storms,
like schoolchildren at term’s end.
Raucous and rowdy, even the robins
retreated before their squabbling,
sparking from iridescent wings
shook over shoulders that jerk
along in time with their staccato steps.
They have birthed wonder anew
these sudden garrulous guests,
reminding us of the joy
that comes from summer laughter,
from cocking an ironic glinting eye
at life from time to time,
and living with a gusto
that erupts in flight at grace’s
sudden swift appearing,
unknown and even unasked for from above.
Oh we thank these rough and tumble gangsters of the sky for however long
they make our garden home,
before the ancient call sounds along
their hollow bones and makes them
sun seekers once again
and storm warnings,
leaving us their life lessons
on a murmuring cloud,
in the glitter-glint of a starling’s eye.
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