Tree House by Nancy Willard

Start with a tree, an old willow with its feet in the water, and one low branch to let you in and a higher branch to let you upstairs, and a lookout branch to show how far you've come (the lake before you, the woods at your back), and now you are close to those who live in these rooms without walls, without doors: one nuthatch typing its way up the bark, two mourning doves calling the sun out of darkness, three blackbirds folding their wings tipped with sunset, twelve crows threading the air and stitching a cape that whirls them away through the empty sky, and don't forget the blue heron stalking the shallows for bluegills, and don't forget the otter backpaddling past you, and the turtles perched on the log like shoes lined up each night in a large family, and don't forget the owl who has watched over you since you were born. Be the housekeeper of trees, who have nothing to keep except silence.