She peck, peck, pecks rhythmically drumming a beat that fills our upstairs. It’s sharp and sudden, making me panic. I listen closely, following it to its origin.
I imagine her dominant body, wings, and beak: large and threatening, even.
The drumming vibrates through my roof and at first, I’m excited–it’s spring I think and dance to her beat…then I remember it’s a new roof she’s pecking!
I better run out and shoo her away.
So I burst outside and stand on my green lawn: Wide legs, hands on hips, eyes bulging and stare at our neighborhood woodpecker.
She glances at me from her perch atop the chimney and continues drumming on the metal.
It’s not even wood!
I stay there fumbling to find a way to get her attention–I have none.
So instead, I begin admiring her tiny body and oddly long beak.
She flies off to a nearby tree and begins up again.
This time the sound is dull, light adding a new layer to the song she started.
She’s not doing her job, I realize…
She’s making music.
