. . . there
the brook takes five bends . . .
sparkling white with captured sun
undulating brown beneath evergreens
twirling a trio of sky blue eddies
mirroring green overhanging maples
retreating as low golden shallows cut by shadows . . .
there . . .
one large green and tan frog
with dark slit golden eyes;
one 'hairy' woodpecker,
an unflattering name for his
red-capped, black-and-white feathered finery;
one yellow-and-black-striped ground bee perusing one of many
triangular gaps in the outward tilted stonewall;
one unseen snake ripping fast
through dry grass underlying new green blades;
one parental tree swallow, again disturbed daily
and glaring from the glass-free garage window;
multitudinous miniature spiderlings,
round, reddish brown, dozing in dead pansy blooms,
whipped frantic by my prying, green-thumbed hands;
one bustling ant community
busily farming aphids on the alders
near the pond policed by speeding dragonflies
who are, in turn, startled too late to save themselves
from hungry leaping fish . . .
by that standard, I am a harmless intrusion
in my natural neighborhood.