The Kildeer and the Tractor.

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.