The moments that change us rarely announce themselves. Often, they arrive through the voice of a child — unfiltered, unguarded, and completely right. I’ve found that writing poetry is one of the most powerful ways I know to preserve those encounters, to keep them close long after the moment has passed. If you’ve never tried putting a memory into verse, I’d gently encourage you to try. You don’t need to be a poet. You just need something worth remembering. May I share my poem with you?

The sky was gray and crinkled
The wind was crisp and wet
I stood at the feeder in jacket and hat
Scooping, shaking, sprinkling in the grains
The joy of expectation rose like a tide of warmth in my mind
The guests to arrive when my chore is done
The melodies I knew I’d hear
  
I turned to walk towards the house
My task was now complete
I walk with certainty, hope, and glee
The cardinals, wrens, and finches call
Their songs to fill the air, my ear, my soul
  
When suddenly the horde arrives
The noisy vocals a sound not sought
I turn, wave my arms, and laugh at myself
And shoo them, with a smirk
From in the house she came to me
A look of unsure thoughts at what she sees
The glossy black, the duller brown
They light and search then quickly leave
  
Like night they scatter when again I shout
She asks me why
I tell her because
These aren’t the ones I feed
Her question springs from in her heart
Seeking justice in our yard
The fairness sought and mercy lent
My actions did not show
All she heard was blackbirds’ cry
She translates clear to me
Do not the blackbirds need to eat … too
  
I stopped and looked her in the eyes
No response my soul to lend
Her words took hold and would not leave
The birds broke through the silence of the two
The guests I sought though not exact
Now flew back in the yard to settle down to eat 
and to this day
her words still linger