A bird in the setting sun

evening june

A bird is singing in the setting sun,

warbler, robin? A small musician,

while Mozart plays and turtle doves call.


Is this happiness, the balance between

the imperatives of existence

and the quiet bliss of golden light,


when nothing sours the blue

or disturbs the drifting music

of birdthroat or tree whisper?


Light spreads like water, silver

and still as moonlight, the tide

rising, and all I can think of


is the magic of old tales and how

they tie us with gossamer threads

to small birds and the stars.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

4 thoughts on “A bird in the setting sun”

  1. I think the tie between old stories told and the present sounds of nature needs to be emphasized maybe many times. It’s a connection that I believe, when the stories were new, was smooth and compelling, while we strain to live and create at all closely with nature now.

    1. I think you’re right. Nature is understated in old stories because it was omnipresent, the sound of birds, the wind, water. The story-tellers only had to say the word ‘thrush’ or ‘cascade’ and the listeners heard and saw it. We struggle, need a picture painting.

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