Magpies,
playfully exchange trees.
Alternating between birch and maple,
they compete for the highest branches.
Striking and athletic,
I delight in their performance.
From close proximity,
their plumage flashes a metallic blue
white underbellies,
lustrous as virgin snow.
Strutting boastfully
lofty tails held high,
I contemplate their beauty.
Standing solid
against an lifeless sky,
feathers ruffled,
they remain
statuesque,
spirited.
Moving in pairs.
My superstitious mind
cites “two for joy”.
I wonder in amusement
if the most dominant one
on the arched limb of my silver birch
is my father’s spirit?
His characteristics
are so similar.
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