Photo by Unsplash

I hear you over there, beyond the trees,
Your call cannot be mistaken.
You should be here you know,
for how can the garden function properly
without you?

I sit here in my garden chair and look around
at gardens, grass and trees.
And think, how can it function properly
without your stern feet judging, for instance
how that grass is much too long
for strutting with the right authority?

How can the great pine’s elegant array
of branch and glossy needles, birthing
of cones and sheltering of creatures,
be conducted smoothly until you
call in your companions
to hold counsel, when perhaps a small
adjustment might be needed?

Small birds at the feeders, it seems
they are in chaos, all wanting the same seeds
at the same time, before all wanting suet
at the same time.
When you’re here, Crow, do they find an order,
come and go in a familiar rhythm; I can’t tell,
but is that your job to do?

Crow, there is a multitude of ants beneath
my feet, beneath the sandy soil of lawns
and gardens.
Do they wait for reassurance in the muffled
sound of steps above them?
They have command of their widespread
fiefdoms, but laws may need some hint
of reinforcement – wait, do ants rebel?

Crow I’m sure you know the answers
and solutions, so my question now is in the air.
Why are you loud in trees around the school yard,
when it seems obvious that you’re needed here?

November, 2021