Deep in the Thicket
A poem
Nov 1, 2020
The pheasant cowers as leaves loosen.
Her gaze darts among the towering grass.
But there’s time,
before shots echo in the valley,
to inhale dusk’s gold halo and sip the last drops of ease.
And when the wind whips the meadow,
she settles in the thicket,
and remembers a nest:
The warmth of kind feathers.
A time when life looked bigger,
and the sky was a canopy of dreams.
