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