In the still of the midwinter afternoon
Quietly observing the play of light across the sky
Crows cawing, getting closer, sounding shrill
There they are! Chasing a red-tailed hawk my way
The hawk lands in a maple tree in front of me
Staying low and trying to avoid the crow sentinels
I stay hidden to watch the scene
The hawk stays below the treetops
The crows have the high ground, screaming their warnings above
A sudden flash of wing
The stab of talons grasping at low branches
And the hawk takes his reward off through the trees
Crows screaming at him, paving his way with shrieks
Poor squirrel never knew what hit him
But I knew...
I had been feeding them corn, and they had become fat, slow
Now I knew who I was really feeding
At my feeders in the trees
Understanding nature, I shrugged
And with a new appreciation
Placed more corn out
YOU ARE READING
I See Through
PoetryPoetic musings of Barry Tudor on life and introspection. A journey of a motorcycling American poet lost in the midst of his own country. Hellish past. Glorious present.