Evelyn Judy Buehler

March 18, 1953 - Chicago
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A Walk Through the Trees

Birdwatching had become for me, such pleasurable summertime hobby,
So I was often among the trees, young ones or those old and knobby.

I chased rose finches at dawn, and the yellow warblers come noon,
Scarlet flycatchers of a fine evening, and ravens under the moon!

By the fond nickname of 'Bird Lady', I had lately become renowned,
And aptly it did cling to me, like the title monarch once crowned.

Outfitted with my binoculars, I sought the rarest or common birds,
Later painting them from snapshots taken, much lovelier than words!

Many a summer day would find me, under the green canopy of trees,
Searching for the elusive joys, upon mysterious and spicy breeze!

On one such day I sought Kirtland's warbler, rumored to be nearby,
And I longed for a phototograph, before he took the azure skies.

I had caught a brief glimpse of him, but just as soon I lost sight,
As colorful blooms never show full glory, in darkness of the night!

Among the pines I was by now, in throes of a heartfelt obsession,
Hoping the beauty might come forth, in golden noontide confession.

"He has flown," a soft voice said, which I imagined was in my head,
Until the soft voice came again, saying the lovely bird had fled!

Still I turned looking eagerly, for the mysterious one who'd spoken;
But I saw absolutely no one, and the tranquil silence gave no token.

The voice said it wasn't a person, but it belonged to the big tree,
For the method trees use to communicate, is by means of telepathy.

I just stood staring in shock, the while my heart was in my mouth,
Like the sunset discovery, that you're residing in the wrong house!

And the reality that you thought you knew, does not actually exist,
Like the way the whole world changes, after receiving a first kiss!

Being a remarkably practical person, I intentionally calmed myself.
In a world of wasted opportunity, why leave golden ones on a shelf?

So with a hundreds year old tree, I engaged in mental conversation,
Filled with zest and curiosity, like a colorful new dawn sensation.

I learned so much of various birds, those ancient friends of trees,
And how they enjoyed classical music, in the company of the bees!

We also spoke of ancient time, sunlit moments and life's passersby,
And of clouds and daydreaming, and the endless colors of the skies!

In the raptures of our conversing, it no longer seemed a bit strange,
Like meeting an old friend you once knew, and not seeing any change.

We talked of interesting visitors, who will come and soon they go,
Like the seasons bringing wonder, in colorful radiance of tomorrow.

My beautiful bird was quite forgotten, for my pretty bird had flown,
As I sat in the dreamy summertime, in the shade, on nature's throne.

We talked of twinkling starlight, in the blackened velvet of June;
And of night blooms and whispering breezes, and a pale limpid moon.

As true friends at last we parted, for the hour had grown quite late,
Recalling redbird met the dawn in song, as some meetings cannot wait.

Retracing the butterfly path I had come, I was often looking back,
At the jade friend I had come to love, sitting near the pink lilacs!
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