Like noisy teenagers
the crow gang
swoops
from tree to tree,
looking to make trouble.

Resting high among the branches
of a three story pin oak tree,
the mother great horned owl
watches the crows’ progress.

Nearby
two fluffy chicks balance
on the edge of a nest basket,
anxiously watching the sky.

Mother’s presence
draws the hostile crows away from the nest,
confrontation the only option.

Dive bombing crows
peck at mother’s head
as they sweep past.

In fact,
a great horned owl
can take out a crow
with mastered efficiency.
A fierce predator, this mother owl
chooses the role of hunted
rather than hunter,
all to protect the nest.

Eventually,
the squawky pack
tires of the owl’s steadfast calm.
Where is the fun in that?

Danger gone,
the mother shakes out
her marbled brown and white feathers,
lifts from the oak branch,
and settles on the lip of the nest.

She turns toward her admiring chicks
to supervise breakfast,
as the sun crests
over the tree tops.

In junior high,
I took typing class.
Each day loading a single sheet of white paper
by turning the knob to secure the page
around the cylinder,
until before me sat
a clean slate, a crisp page.

Mastering the keyboard
took time,
an illogical arrangement of letters
causing keys to hammer
ink upon the leaf.

Ever competitive,
I mastered the keys,
hands flying,
words forming like magic.

For my son’s 21st birthday,
we gave him a carefully restored
Royal typewriter,
built before I was born,

He gingerly scrolled the paper,
struck a few keys and marveled
at the clacking sound,
the ding at line’s end.
How ancient the typewriter appeared.

Fingers flying over his phone’s keyboard,
my son sent a thank you text,
along with a photo
of the poem he typed
on creamy white paper.

“It takes a raindrop approximately seven minutes to fall to earth from a 4,000 meter high cloud.” NASA Global Percipitation Measurement

At dawn
a raindrop begins its descent.
The journey will take seven minutes.

Somewhere in the distance
grocery store lights flicker on,
a clerk straightens boxes
on a cereal shelf.

Just down the block
an attendant turns on
the island of gasoline pumps.

Around the corner
grills are wheeled out
in front of the hardware store,
anticipating warmer weather.

Street lamps
begin to flutter out,
as the sun
pulls itself over the horizon.

At the marsh,
I am already deep in the woods
heading toward the bright sound
of a red-headed woodpecker
at work.

Around me —
common yellow throats,
Carolina wrens, black-capped chickadees,
Easter bluebirds,
great horned owls
build a chorus
as the raindrop
hits a supple new leaf.

*inspired by Billy Collin’s “Winter Trivia”.