So close to the edge
between refined space
and full free regrowth
sounds the rush of air,
wide hush beneath moving cars
and hungry engines
that drown out the sweet,
unmistakable echo
of whistling birds in song
and terse flapping wings.
These things are interspersed in
splotchy shadows lining bright
sun-lit green leaves that
angle a fine net,
a latticework to shelter
all innocent things
just trying to live,
clear like the deer’s eyes
not too far from me.
Her able footwork
is smooth and graceful,
near silent until
the break of a twig,
revealing herself
with broad sides cloaked in strong fur
and her steady, structured spine
but how curious, those eyes,
they see harmless things,
like critters see her,
critters that see me, and yet
continue their life
for the sake of surviving,
all innocent things.
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