Thursday, May 24, 2012

Hunch Weaving

The flicker house was mounted
on a backyard tree
with desire to conserve,
to ensure a presence.

But squirrels thought
the box to be theirs,
a homestead for generations
of  furry tails.

They remodeled the opening,
wove pine straw ticking
and birthed the first brood
of tiny sunflower seed thieves.

The yard wars were on
and raged for decades.
The day wind felled the box,
hunch drove me to look inside

and there perched
on a pillow of down
was a single speckled egg.

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