Songs
From the shadows of pregnant trees the songbird sings his song, a trilling chord in the sultry afternoon. Sunlight dances on the winding path. Far away, the familiar hut stoops in silence. I quicken my pace, seeing above the horizon gray clouds rolling in. He stops as I pass under him, going faster still. I look up and say, what do songbirds do in afternoons like this? Tien Tran |