The hummingbirds know - by Chris Reed

The Hummingbirds Know

Verse 1
September sun is hanging on,
Like summer doesn’t know it’s gone.
The red clay’s cracked beneath our feet,
The mums are waiting on the heat.
The fire ants have all gone deep,
The pasture’s dry, the dust won’t sleep,
And one by one our summer friends
Have slipped away around the bend.

Chorus
The hummingbirds know when it’s time to go,
Before the first cool wind begins to blow.
No road signs south, no calendar to show,
Somehow the hummingbirds know.
And when April wakes these fields again,
They’ll cross that sky on wings like wind,
Back to the porch, back to the old familiar view—
The hummingbirds know where they’re going to.

Verse 2
The rain knows exactly where we are,
We watch it falling near and far.
It wets the road, it soaks the town,
Then drops just enough to piss off the ground.
Tomorrow there’s a front they say,
That finally blows this heat away.
We’ll set the table in the Henge,
And watch another season change.

Chorus
The hummingbirds know when it’s time to go,
Before the first cool wind begins to blow.
No road signs south, no calendar to show,
Somehow the hummingbirds know.
And when April wakes these fields again,
They’ll cross that sky on wings like wind,
Back to the porch, back to the old familiar view—
The hummingbirds know where they’re going to.

Bridge
We build our clocks and mark our days,
Put names on seasons as they change.
We need a date to tell us when
The light and dark are matched again.
But somewhere south on a tiny wing,
There’s a memory waiting for the spring—
Of Georgia fields and feeders hung,
And a place they knew when they were young.

Verse 3
Tonight the daylight balances,
Half summer gone, half autumn left.
Company’s coming, the work is done,
We’ll sit awhile when the cool air comes.
And out there where the tall grass bends,
We’ll raise a glass to absent friends.
Some things leave because they must—
That doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten us.

Final Chorus
The hummingbirds know when it’s time to go,
And they know the way when it’s time for home.
Across a thousand miles or more,
Back to the feeder by the door.
And when April wakes these fields again,
We’ll hear that little hum on the wind—
No map, no sign, no one to tell them what to do…
The hummingbirds know.
And somehow, they remember you.

Outro
The red clay waits.
The seasons roll.
April will come.
The hummingbirds know.