Song sung alone

The birds, the birds. The birds in our back yard. Pdogge
reckons the little lime-coloured ones are waxeyes; ace
birdwatcher Steve Braunias tells me they're probably
greenfinches, or maybe silvereyes. He also advises that
‘right this very week is when the blackbirds sing again.
They go quiet, mute in fact, over winter.’ Extraordinary.
Or rather, so ordinary I never knew it. Now I listen for
that song, and in a world where we are taught to equate
power with money and violence and political control I
remind myself of other, more enduring kinds of power,
the ones we ignore or underestimate or take for granted,
as suggested by Jackson Browne in his song 'Looking
East'—

Power in the insects
Power in the sea
Power in the snow falling silently
Power in the blossom
Power in the stone
Power in the song being sung alone