Anchorage. Alaska. October 2014.

Cold Anchorage skies.
In their sloppily sketched V,
geese disdain winter.


Snow geese vocalize
gentle, untroubled honking...
going the wrong way.

Anchorage. Alaska.

Between narrow gaps
in street signs, wind finds its voice:
Rattle, murmur, shriek.

Tryon Creek. Oregon

Fierce sharp-shinned hawk squeaks,
in his best big boy hawk voice,
"Kinglet for dinner!"

Oregon. Tryon Creek.

Rapid giggling stream.

Soft applause of rain. Circles

bloom where two sounds meet.

Owlet, last to leave,

(his siblings eager to jump)

just takes a moment.

Silent coyotes

document their partnership:
crisscrossed prints in snow.

Oregon. Tryon Creek.

Dark clever raven

unfolds the forest; her slow

origami flights.

Horrified robins

shriek; she’s stolen a nestling

(plump, naked, struggling).

Quick dispatch of life.

She plucks delicate pink meat.

Her own brood awaits.

Oregon. Tryon Creek.

Late rays and streetlamps.

In pockets of darkness glow

leaves, naively green.

A robin’s clacking,

fog drip, fiddleheads; all shards.

Collectively whole.

Oregon. Tryon Creek State Park.

Sight, sound, touch, and scent.
Streambank in evening; I
drink more than water.



A bird alarm-calls.
Crouch with a robin in fear.
"All's clear!" It was me.