Archive
05/14/10 - (3)
War Dance
While on my walk through the village, the quiescent boys' camp, This first afternoon of my return to the cabin, I hear the most ferocious cursing of birds, Deep in the cloudless blue heights above me, A scourge of sharp-barbed caw-caw-cawing barbarity.
When I ease my pace, to apprehend the tumult's source, What I see is a terrifying territorial war dance: Five or six violently swarming crows Driving a lone bald eagle out of its graceful, circular soaring, Attacking it, repeatedly, with beak blows to its body,
Trying, with all their raging instinct, To obliterate that beautiful, majestic threat to their space, The target desperately swerving, to evade the assault. If only I could intervene... But nature assigns each of us a place in its reasoned creation.
05/14/10 - (3)
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