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A quiet morning walk
on the prairie
in spring
is not a leisurely experience.
There’s much to see
there, at your feet,
in the gravel,
that flower.

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Up there, on the wire,
Scissortailed Flycatcher
cleaning herself,
morning feather-fluffing.
Where are those Meadowlarks?
Can’t see them;
one over here,
one over there—
singing brightly to each other.
A Cardinal couple fly
across my path.
An Eurasian-Collared Dove
coos
and Mockingbird sings only one song,
warning that I pass.

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