Common Birds XVIII - Wild Turkey
For my son
The afternoon is hushed.
Two geese sleep in the steam-bed’s grass,
And a mallard untucks and shakes his deep green head.
The rain has passed.
A chickadee pries its beak behind the bark
Of a tree that buds new life and silver droplets.
Mist is in the air,
Casting each of us in light without a shadow,
Reminding me that the Heavens brush my face.
I startle a wild turkey.
His head is still so soft with light brown down.
And he totters down the bank to get some space.
I want to hold him.
I want to hug him to my chest,
To somehow let him know that we are blessed.