Songs for the birds

A poem

A trumpet calls,
     brilliant and bright.
A trumpet answers,
     muted and mellow.
A meadowlark 
     sits satisfied.

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What if we just played music for the birds that sing for us? That’s where this poem came from. I thought maybe if they hear us signing and playing music, they will be finally happy, or at least satisfied.

I have this kind of small plaza near a small lake where I live. One day I think I will go out there on a Sunday morning, play the following song and then just disappear (for the day). And maybe at the hour I will play my audience will be only the birds.