Chista

Up in the elm trees, flitting around, Or on the Texas sage, close to the ground. Can't stand still, wings constantly flick, No bird song here, just an audible click. Perpetual motion wherever it flies, On the ébony trees, or eyeing the skies. Flying to the organ pipe then back again, Is it a finch or is it a wren. It is a Chista, tiny little thing, One of the miracles, that come with spring. So very tiny, as big as my thumb, Feeding on seeds and day old bread Crumbs. It's wings flitting constantly with a nervous tick, Never stands still, amazingly quick. It is a Chista, thats all I can say, And my constant joy, is to watch it at play. 2/10/14 Alton Texas