In the marshland tulle beds, cattails spearing skyward,
tipsy, tiny, red-winged blackbirds, berry drunk on
Pyracantha incantations, hop back & forth,
feather-dancing fancy, preening from
stem to stalk while talking all mirth
in chirrup, in flutter & whistle,
ignorant of any holy precepts –
just this song-inducing supper.
standingheretalking 
Those tiny red-winged blackbirds — happy in their berries — I remember the Martinez marshlands where we watched them, and our happiness that afternoon, magnified here now.