I’m walking down this path
They call Lancaster Walk.
It’s crisp out, it should be winter
But it’s not. The air is still cold
and the squirrels are mating
because they think it’s Spring.
The breeze sends a mentha cool
up my nose and I get chills
down my neck and spine when I exhale.
My eyes are wandering,
avoiding other eyes around me
trying to find a peaceful place
to rest upon
Like a bird on a high branch
after a long flight.
I think to myself, I hardly ever
And it was as if I had
Rolled up the blinds to a dim room.
My eyes grew at the magnificence
I’m always so busy looking around and behind and
As far forward as I can.
For a moment or two it was a mini revelation:
The clear blue
Stained here and there with fluff.
The camera zoomed out
When I notice through my peripheral,
As I’m staring into the sprawling blue,
A sparrow on straight trajectory,
At lightning speed screeching
Treacherously inharmonious notes.
Centimeters from its tail
Glided a larger bird, swooping
Effortlessly but determinedly high and low.
Target in sight,
Acute and precise,
Predator and prey.
Their wild primitive minds
Know that one’s freedom to live
Is the other’s freedom to die.
And suddenly I understand the
Horror, drama, suspense
In every and anything
All of the time.
In this one moment
As the sparrow was tagged,
Throttled to death
I found myself engulfed in
A most violent kind of beauty,
On this crispy day
Down Lancaster Walk watching