As I walk past the towering lilies backlit with sun
and enter the field messy with helianthus and brambles
I hear the raucous yells of crows
in the woods near the old spring. What did they find?
Are they mad or jubilant?
Walking down the mowed path I come across one, then two,
then three feathers, turkey by the looks of ’em.
And suddenly, a rustle. Then many beating wings
flying, flying up into the oaks. Six, seven, eight maybe twelve turkey fledglings
and their mother, scared and startled by human intrusion.