Friday, November 7, 2014

morning rounds---fulfilling the contract (for zane)

in the morning, you walk with me to feed the chickens,
a few feet ahead,
nose to the ground,
reading the log of recent activities,
breathing in all the comings and goings,
deciphering time stamps,
distinguishing the signatures scrawled by moonlight,
from those that tinge the morning dew,
you slow,
go still,
i look in the direction of your focus,
100 ft ahead under the big oak,
breakfasting on an acorn,
bushy-tailed and insolent,
i whisper, squirrel, to you,
and you tear off,
a wild blur,
a flock of quail bursts from the brush pile in your wake,
a flurry of sputtering wing beats and alarmed squips scattering skyward,
you near your quarry,
closing fast,
eager jaws and a predator's fantasies,
in the space of two feet and a split second,
an acorn abandoned,
a gray streak up a nearby cedar trunk,
mocking chatter from a high branch,
countered with a few frustrated whines and yips from below,
the round concluded,
score tallied,
the contract between predator and prey found intact,
and an agreement to resume the game at your next encounter,
then, nose back to the ground,
and on to the next appointment,
a neighbor's cat has wandered into the yard