Unmoored in Time

On a recent morning walk up at the cabin I encountered a pair of sandhill cranes hustling across the road in front of me. They surprised me since these birds are not typically found in forested land. But then I did see one last summer, too, along with a brutal reminder that nature is not all sweetness.



Unmoored in Time


An eagle on the hunt
marks a lone crane, listless
and drifting on the lake.

Heartbreaking shrieks
at the attack of claws and beak.
The day rubber-bands
until the predator breaks away.

Neck still arched, the stunned target
maintains its grace, circling
then slipping to a sodden grave.

Tetracords and trilobites belch.

The rest of the forest silent
except for an "Adagio for Strings"
filtered by cabin screens and screes

of a hawk relentlessly rebuking
his competitor.

Finally, the pterosaur flies off, leaving      
bucolic shambles warping his backwash.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor