The Kildeer and the Tractor.
Motherly instinct goes wild
The Killdeer and the Tractor
A sweet spring day
new mown grass scents the air, with the honey of ground clover and devils paintbrush spun in a confetti spray. Cruising in 5th and cutting a swath through six inch endlessly rejuvenating rain fed, blades of green, 2 acres wide a three hour ride, mind adrift, and simply fixated on the ground ahead, my mind serene. Suddenly my dreamy state of monoto--me is disturbed by a tiny bird facing off so daringly with my big green metal predator mother nature's sharpest editor, driven by a hairy monster in a tank top. No coward she... jumped right in front of me, wing pulled down in a mimicry of pain, an act I thought insane in an Oscar winning performance of a wounded bird, on this trick she relied to lure the hunting beasts aside, easy prey she sat and loudly cried, "Kil...Deer...Kil...deer." as if to dare me kill this tiny bit of dear life, with blades sharp as a knife, Awed at her suicidal endeavors I swerved flipping her a human bird of my own till I saw with a frown, the four little bitty eggs all light brown with dark brown speckles tucked tenderly in the tall grass, perusing them closely as I passed and missed them much to her delight. If she could she would have cried out, "Eggs... beware" but God blessed her with only two sounds to declare, and neither was appropriate for the fear that made her feathers rise like the quivering quill. of a distressed poet trying to voice his despair. I made a wide orbit around that special place a sorry look upon my face and left four more Killdeers to face the metal monsters that fate would send their way someday, across where their young lay. Mama bird settled back down, her plump bottom cushioned over those eggs cradling what I might smash or hungry prey might snatch out of that little patch amidst the crabgrass.. weeds and thatch. She'll guard this precious batch till her warmth helps them hatch and I was but a huge Sasquatch and for her love no match. Later in the midst of my finely manicured lawn that stretches out green and cleanly shaved, sits a patch a killdeer saved, Just a taller stand of grass and one courageous little bird.
Odes to nature's tenacity plus a mother's sheer audacity against man's obsession to constantly control the endless acts of Nature's goal.
© 2009 Matthew Frederick Blowers III