Natural vernacular

The ancient eavesdropper

One clear night I heard a honking,
though not from a car,
it echoed overhead, traveling far.
I tilted my head up towards the wandering sky,
stars all aglow, twinkling together in time.
My eyes caught a white arrow headed due south,
high above the mingling shadows
of billowing chimneys, sagging power lines
and leafless tree crowds.
Pointing with the authority of a trusty compass,
twenty geese graced the inkwell of space,
tracing constellations with wings on the fly.
What are they honking for?  I think I know why.
To exist and be heard apart from the noise,
while the rest of us walk on, mumbling meaningless words –
just listen to ourselves speak, no regard
for the natural vernacular of a creature in its place.

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About tyler4turtles

I am an avid photographer, poet, ecologist, bookworm, blogger, art enthusiast and runner who calls Montana home but lives in Oregon.
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