Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Rush, Our


Perched on high,
Red-winged Blackbirds spy
while down below
newborn ducklings waddle,
just-born goslings march
filing behind parents honking.

A hawk lands on top of a tall post
to better seek out his prey while
another glides low to the ground
hoping to flush out a wary prairie dog.
Rabbits pause listening for unseen dangers,
ears twitching.

Marshland waters sparkle through the low fog
as morning traffic drives through the senenity
on the way to a hectic work day.
No time to stop and play,
the cars and trucks
pass by ducks;
drivers glancing
but not really seeing.

Trees full of gackles cackling
are not heard.
Commuters scurry by cows and  horses grazing,
gulls circling, waters trickling.
Quickly they drive,
Hhrrying towards that soon forgotten meeting.

Rushing, they leave their precious children
in the hands of strangers.

Who is really the herd here?

mindbringer, 4 May 2011