Rain Crow


Rain crow announces dawn and Queen Anne's Lace floats above the damp June grass.

On the pasture black cows graze with white egrets following, all  beneath wet grey clouds moving slowly eastward.

The lawn is pockmarked with the work of night's armadillo and a single useless gold green wing of a Luna moth, victim of bat, lies 

on weeds.  Beyond the fence separating the lawn from the pasture a copse of tall pine speak softly, once calling me home from the north.



White sand from a primal seashore  hauled from the source near the Live Oak to the yard and slowly poured into a bed.

Dry cow dung and black rich soil with squirming earthworms finish  the job.

Cold winter rain brings dreams of tomatoes, faced and boxed - summer gifts for friends with smiling eyes.



Eastern Blue birds, shy and independent,  take no seed from the winter feeder. In spring, after careful inspection, pairs select nesting

boxes made from pailings and guarded from serpents by barbwire wound about the base. Bright orange and warm blue flying angles, blessed gifts to earth.


The taste of June blackberries presented by thorny vines along the pond bank pulls up childhood memories of gathering berries in tin syrup pails brought home in hopes of a cobbler

or hawking berries to neighbor ladies in long cotton dresses who answered the knock and exchanged nickels and dimes for black fruit.

Dimes for tickets to Saturday's double feature picture show, Roy or Buck Rogers, made no difference.


On the pond bank the wing of the Embden goose lies muddy and mangled. That strong wing once beat and drove the fox, brilliant golden red in the morning light, from the yard saving the cowering hens.

The pond where the Grey heron feeds, domain of the goose 'til the alligator entered unnoticed and moved slowly, slowly like a floating log..