The sounds of anger
screeches through
half open windows;
scrambling, I peek out
at the commotion.

Crazily, crows swoop
on a solitary crane,
their orange beaks
peck him as he perches
on the summit of a Spruce
-- like a Christmas angel.

He stays, determinedly
swaying on the branch,
as if on a children’s ride.

The scenario continues until
he spreads enormous wings,
covering the sun,
and zooms above the trees
-- out of sight.

Silence resumes, except
for sweet twitters
of sparrows on the grass.

Twin nests lie embraced by
branches of nearby poplars,
stirring the crows’ maternal instinct
to protect their nestlings.

Content with this consequence,
my fish swim secure in the pond,
no longer prey for their predator
-- for another day.

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