The Accidental

a poem

This week, as the last migrating birds passing through Athens continue on their journeys north to their summer breeding grounds, leaving the city's sky empty and silent, I've been thinking about the beauty of these creatures, and of the lessons they can teach us, if only we take time to notice.

Blue Rock Thrush, Monticola Solitarius

The Accidental


My favourite bird is the blackbird
peering at me from the darkness 
of a thick bush, plucking my attention
back into the world. 

My favourite bird is the robin I see
balancing on the end of a thread-thin 
branch, realizing it’s not wind moving its perch,
but the pulse of its tiny heartbeat.

My favourite bird is the nightingale
that sings before dawn, the one I never see, 
but whose song, at once lament and celebration, 
reminds me that it’s not light I need to sing,
but its promise.

My favourite bird is the blue rock thrush
whose tinkling notes from sea-sprayed rocks
break the susurration of the water
like drops of rain cutting through 
the deafening heat of a Greek August.

My favourite bird is the barn owl
that flies in silence through the black
night, its flight deft strokes of white
priming the canvas of the sky
for the pinks and reds of dawn.

My favourite bird is the accidental,
blown off its usual migratory route,
but flying, soaring, looping, never 
despairing, always believing
there are many flight paths home.