Quiet in the wood.
Robins hop from branch to branch.
Gently, the branch sways—
up down—again—up down
and stops.
The breeze weaving around the trees
pushes plants over.
Leaves jostle together.
My footsteps odding out of the sounds.
Above, raucous rooks haw and caw
while landing on branches.
Ever so suddenly they take off—
each a flapping ink blot across
winter’s gray sky—
coughing out their caws.
Below, little ears listen.
Growing and spreading with all the sounds
they hear. They listen in every moment, to
every creature, every step I take, every crow
that haws, constantly.
