Driving west
past fields of dried, broken stalks
of harvested corn
and fields of plump, bronze heads
of maize, ready for harvest,
I gasped in delight
and almost stomped on the brake
at the sight
of the sudden undulating wave of black
crossing the road in front of me.
I slowed,
pulled off the road
next to a corn field
and watched
as the black wave continued to undulate
now on the ground,
in the corn field
like a mythic, giant serpent.
The Red-Winged Blackbirds
are back.