One day a heron walked
up our front steps and looked
into the front-door window.
Was it a heron and also
something else?
– Jim Harrison (“Suite of Unreason”)
Old white feed tank claimed by two
renegade racing pigeons on their way home
to stay and fill our sky with dozens, colored
wings glinting in unison. Once the heron’s
roost, our frozen totem facing north, up-canyon
at the head of the drive—our stoic gray sentry,
early on. Or the dependable silhouettes
of a pair of ravens, come evenings to listen
and lean like lovers, closer together until
they disappear at the water trough. Roadrunners
seem everywhere at once sprinting low on long legs
from barn to cactus, strolling the garden rows
like superintendents in tux and tails, also walk
the rail to peer in the window, or the mirror. One
never knows when curiosity might bring them
for closer inspection, for who does the choosing,
who studies whom? And what wide forces
have drawn us closer to proclaim our space?
– for Laurie, Matthew and so many others
of the Kaweah River watershed.
drycrikjournal 
Very nice!
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