Long shafts of dying light
filter through the trees,
illuminating the stillness with a cathedral grace.
Padding through shades of citrine and emerald,
I am alone in the hush;
a woodpecker drums on a distant bough
and a Hermit Thrush
with the twinkle of wings,
throws off his invisibility cloak
to search the leaf litter
before alighting on a twig,
brown on brown with a rust tail.
Is it me or does there seem to be a lot of Hermit Thrushes around this year?
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