I think because I remember writing about them last June,
this week I spied the collection of catbirds
seemingly shadowing me
again.
But this year I did some research.
It turns out that June is a lively time for catbirds,
migrating back to familiar homes, busily caring for new hatchlings, hunting insects, together with their mates of the season.
Last June I waxed poetic (literally),
thinking these bird sightings were a sign meant for me:
a message about finding one’s voice
at a time when the fracturing of my former life
          had led me to the shady thickets of my soul
          in a pleading search
          for omens.
But the catbirds were just doing their catbird thing
and I was making my own way through another season
alone.
How foolish to believe
that nature would notice my miniscule human struggle
in the midst of its intricate, perfectly designed agenda.

6/6/26