I like this time of year,
the windows open
so I can hear the birds.
More of them here than usual,
mating and nesting and singing.
The orioles have rebuilt
in the palm,
the birds he calls bite-sized
tempt the cat outside
the kitchen door.
Mostly it is the open windows
that I like,
the French doors turned back
breaking the boundary between
the living room and yard.
I like to sit on the sofa in spring,
my computer on my lap,
and feel like I’ve got it
all over Thoreau.