Becoming Mindful in Place: Proof

 

 

Proof

 

If I’d not glanced out the window at just that moment,

I would have missed the flash of blue against blue.

I wouldn’t have seen it dart onto a crabapple branch

and then light on the backboard behind the net,

unmistakable in its orange vest.

I scooped up my camera and fiddled with the focus

but snapped just as it lifted off,

so I have no proof.

I thought I saw it poke its head into the door

where the sparrows took up housekeeping.

Sparrows like these pecked “my” baby bluebirds to death.

Mr. Google said so.

Fly, little bluebird. Fly!

Those sparrows murdered your babies,

and they’ll have no love for you.

I’d glanced out the window at just the right moment

that same week of the killings and saw a kestrel

clinging to the door frame of the sparrow’s house.

I ran outside to chase it away,

but not until after I snapped a picture,

so I’d have proof.

 

 

I saved sparrows from certain death

so they could kill more bluebirds.

Should I have let that kestrel have its lunch?

Maybe I shouldn’t have interfered.

Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to play God.

I haven’t seen a bluebird in our yard since that day

until today, and today I’m wondering for the first time…

What if all this time I’ve accused the wrong bird?

But I have no proof.

 

 

 

This summer I’ve been taking a workshop through Tweetspeak Poetry called “Becoming Mindful in Place. This is a reflection from our writing assignment on transcendence.

And by the way, last night when I ran out back to capture the rising moon, I nearly stepped on this little dude.

So I have proof.

They’re back!

In the stillness,

Sandy