A Walk in the Woods

What would a zebra swallowtail sound like if it sang? Would it tune to the wind of a flute? Would it take to the bark of its more equestrian namesake? What a leap that’d give a hungry blue jay! Or—maybe, the notes would drip with each sip from bruised paw paw petals.

Thick as a heady nectar, it’d glisten across the ears. With the rot and sequestered carbon, it’d glimmer like April sun. I’d bathe myself in it, shrink into its sweet melody! 

Passerines punch through the canopy. As the finches throttle under the circling hawk, would it, too, cry in alarm?

Alarm is what the white-breasted nuthatch hops with. What a peculiar red barrel the human holds! Up the trunk it flits. Click. Though it tends to fly many more days than my scaled acquaintance, it bobs and weaves through branches as if the talons of my eyes will sink its beak any second. Much more squirrely, indeed, than the long-tailed models hopping about the forest floor.

I hum to the green

refrain that the smallest songs

still fill the branches.

I took inspiration for today's haibun from Camille over on substack. Her day 8 prompt was "finding friends in the forest," if you want to check out her post on Substack.

Photos taken by me [Lee Summers] on a Nikon Coolpix L830, 4/6/2026.