A hummingbird zips by—metallic green—
Its eyes examines pastel reds and pinks.
It rises slowly, hovers, then it thinks
to move where other backyard birds are seen

perched low in nearby trees while heavy drops
pelt leaves, where claws grip branches thick and thin,
where balance comes to those who know they’re in
the safest place until the rainfall stops.

When raindrops fall the birds don’t chat or sing.
They may be fast asleep or in a daze.
The looming weather shifts, but never stays.
Like time, a storm is only a passing thing.

Birds get along with little—wet or dry,
They rest until they know it’s time to fly.