Before Arrival

For nobody
the Song Sparrow
chortles for joy
in extra octaves,
and the seasonal brooks sing
which will go mute all summer
after the people get here
and drown out that rare music
with all their gregarious comings and goings.

Is it me, the sudden unfamiliar presence
of a single human being,
that startles the Red Squirrel
and starts him twanging
like the plucking on a single banjo string?

Now they all join in with his chattering,
the Ovenbird crescendoing
the mysterious Perula hissing
from somewhere on high,
innumerable warblers warbling
and the sudden startling
heralding of the Red-eyed Vireo —
all signaling the same thing.
A chorus of welcome.
Or is it warning?

The humans are coming!

Today the island is present
only to itself,
as if it had eyes and ears.

The pebbly roads sparkle
where the rattling carts
will soon be raising dust.
The Little Sheepscot like a single glittering crystal today
will soon be shredded into roars and wakes and spray.
There will be sounds of clinking glasses
and laughter issuing from the old caretaker’s cottage
now engulfed and muffled in lilacs
emitting only a hushed, meditative fragrance.

Soon Wilder’s Field will be a commotion
of shouted greetings and dogs and children at play
where this evening only the shadows of the pines
exercise their limbs in the dark, not yet mown, first grass.

Jbb
5.24.23