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wildlife
vs
what matters most
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one of the first warm
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after many cold
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evenings
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i'm sitting out on the deck
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a relaxing
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fizzling
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drink for me
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and a book by bukowski
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i try to focus on
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his words of
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his childhood
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during the depression
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but
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all the sounds
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all around
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are overwhelming
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somehow
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right now
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the sound of
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humankind is easily dismissed
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planes, cars
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pounding bass
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screaming kids
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leaf blowers
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they all fade away
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and a crunch
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in the woods?
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a child
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heading home
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i suppose...
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but the birds
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singing goodnight
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the peepers'
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evening greeting
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take over
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and the skies
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attract my eyes
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contrails remaining
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but fading
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wisps of today's clouds
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the moon
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a few early stars
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i try once again
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to attend
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to buk
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but i fail
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reality is winning
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i read a few more
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lines but now
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the light
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is failing and
|
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my attention is diffused
|
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there's that crunch
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again
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dry leaves being carefully
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but forcefully
|
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trodden upon
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and now a twig
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breaks
|
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|
something is out there
|
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in the woods
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definitely
|
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an animal
|
|
|
|
the light is too faint
|
|
to read now
|
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so
|
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i submit
|
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to the evening
|
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there is no wind
|
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not a trace
|
|
but it's already becoming
|
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really cool
|
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and the moon begins
|
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to throw vague shadows
|
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the sky somewhere between
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black and blue
|
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and i see a few more stars
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and a few faintly lit clouds
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the floor of the woods
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continues to be disturbed
|
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something is out there
|
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i can make it out
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the precise
|
|
location
|
|
of the sound
|
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as it approaches
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slowly
|
|
softly
|
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it resolves into distinct
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footfalls in the woods
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and
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there are more
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than one
|
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of them
|
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out there
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a splash
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whatever it is
|
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has crossed the brook
|
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more rustling
|
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steps
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there must be three
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of them
|
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at least
|
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i move to see
|
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(or is it hear?)
|
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better
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they stop
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i strain to see
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it's all intensely
|
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focused
|
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visual
|
|
noise
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i wish
|
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i had
|
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a nightscope
|
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eventually they begin
|
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again to move
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once
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again
|
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another splash
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crunching leaves
|
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|
|
and another
|
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splash
|
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|
|
there are
|
|
definitely
|
|
several
|
|
of them
|
|
|
|
only the moonlight now
|
|
illuminates the yard
|
|
and the woods beyond
|
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|
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and it steps out into the yard
|
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|
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i can barely make out a shape
|
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i have to look
|
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off to the side
|
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to perceive it:
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it's large
|
|
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i think it's white
|
|
on the backside
|
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it's hard to say
|
|
for sure
|
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|
|
i move
|
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to see better
|
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it moves
|
|
i think
|
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perhaps now he's
|
|
observing me
|
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to see
|
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if i'm a threat
|
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|
i freeze
|
|
he freezes
|
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we're locked
|
|
in some primal way
|
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my senses
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amplified
|
|
nerves tingling
|
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this is something
|
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important
|
|
an insight into
|
|
how it was
|
|
|
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once
|
|
|
|
eventually
|
|
he moves back
|
|
into the woods
|
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|
|
the footsteps
|
|
continue
|
|
sporadically
|
|
but they fade
|
|
softly away
|
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leaving only the night
|
|
|
|
i sit there
|
|
shivering a bit
|
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i seem to have
|
|
forgotten
|
|
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about buk
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