The Juniper Trees

I just wrote this poem, called The Juniper Trees, from a hike I took this evening, where the sun went down while Lilah and I were still on the mountain, and we found our way through the cool air in the pitch dark with no moon for a couple of hours. Quite pleasurable. But before then, in the dusk, I passed through a village of birds so loud I could not believe it. Happiness seemed to radiate from the trees.

I passed through a secret
village on the mountainside
The air was drawn, hushed in
dusky light.
One hundred chatting birds
danced, unself-conscious, thinking
themselves alone.
A robin emerged from inside a
juniper singing with abandon.
He spotted me, and froze.
I smiled at him,
encouraged him to speak
freely, but he flew in a
circle to where I could not see him.
I continued my silent decent,
the red earth rich and dusty.
Soon, I had passed the village,
wishing I could stay
and transform into a bluejay,
sailing on the air
rife with joy