Nuthatch

In this poem, David Wagoner sums up pretty well what it must be like to be a nuthatch.

Nuthatch

Quick, at the feeder, pausing
Upside down, in its beak
A sunflower seed held tight
To glance by chestnut, dust-blue,
White, an eye-streak
Gone in a blurred ripple
Straight to the cedar branch
To the trunk to a crevice
In bark and putting it
In there, quick, with the others,
Then arrowing straight back
For just one more all morning.

Tags: David Wagoner, Nuthatch