For a moment I though
there wouldn't be
swainson thrush anymore
They come only
for a few weeks
every year
Their ethereal melody
filling the forest
Reminding me
of my youth
Of the land
where I was born
But today
I've heard them
Calling each other
only two of them
I want to
record them
again this year
Maybe catch
a summer rain
with a
birdsong
background
Recording sounds
creates memories
that can be re-lived
as a deeper
experience
It resemble
collecting memories
creating dreams
