Mendocino Neighbors

​

A lone quail perched daily on the rustic wooden fence,

Tall black topknot, round grey upper chest, alert and proud.

From her window, the woman with long gray hair watched in quiet.

New to town, and knowing no one, she looked forward to his presence.

 

One day, while clearing empty breakfast bowls,

she noticed movement in the grass below--

mama quail at the helm, three striped, fuzzy babies,

father scampering closely behind.

 

The woman remembered a time long ago when her own child

played in their flower-filled suburban backyard,

long before the daughter moved thousands of miles away,

to a life of her own.

 

Days later, cries of distress pierced the neighborhood,

plaintive, persistent, painful to the ear.

The quail couple perched on a nearby fence,

calling and calling to unseen children.

 

The woman’s heart stopped, remembering stories

of birdlings carried off by red-tailed hawks,

like the one she’d seen atop the nearby ancient water tower,

head turning slightly, eyes watching, ready to pounce.

 

The next day both parents reappeared, three babies in tow.

Relief in her soul, the woman recalled when her own child

wandered and could not be seen, her panic, her fear,

and then joy when the girl stepped out from hiding.

 

She watched all summer as the three little quail

grew into adulthood, knowing they too,

as time passed, would move on

to create their own lives.