in a wilding field

so still, so dull—faded grass
almost mouse grey, no longer golden
as juniper tree losing its needles

while that oak at wood's edge
holds fast its dead leaves
against bare branches of bush

a twitch of ear and my eyes
identify a third deer grazing
watching me as i watch them

out of the corner of my left eye
a stranger and a dog walk
along valley trail towards me

or us, unaware of the three
decidedly autumn dull-coloured deer
and a white pickup truck behind

them on the walking and biking trail
two men inside the cab watch
me watching deer in a wilding field

trucks not allowed here, but poacher
eyes see deer within city limits
and their minds are already beyond

so still, so dull—dusty bike
at rest between my legs, feet
planted firmly on the ground

quiet camera in knit-gloved hands
my poet mind sees our tableau
as the pickup truck encroaches

the three deer turn and run
between nearby trees as i mount
my bicycle and peddle away

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T: Struts Gallery
loc: writing desk
temp: -2 C
sound: Cool Blue Outlaws: Songs of rogues, rascals and rapscallions