Something about her beak felt like 1968 to me

With a
for a bosom,
she bears
the swiftness
of the breeze
on her beak;
the morning sun
licks dry
her tail,
as she mutes
the rain
and sings
“hello, I
love you,
won’t you
tell me
your name”.

Scaly-Breasted Munia, Ponneri

Scaly-Breasted Munia, Ponneri

I fell in love with Scaly-Breasted Munias the first time I saw them. I remember asking one perched upon a thorny shrub if she had a name that I could call her. Obviously, she flew away without saying a word.

Birds don’t speak English. I am aware of that. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to talk to them a year ago when I started birding.

A few months ago, I decided to start singing to them instead. Inside my head. I can’t imagine the world needs to hear another bullfrog with a bad cold.

So I just pick whatever song that pops in my mind, and sing it to myself.



  1. Such a lovely lead-in. I sing to my birdies all the time, and not always in my head. Just today, I was chatting up a particularly beautiful scissortail flycatcher who seemed intent to listen to what I had to say (or so I thought), as I walked around him shooting like paparazzi. The trail joggers probably thought I”d gone made.

    Liked by 1 person

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