The circle
inscribed itself
around me
on bare ground –
an aerial thread.
I lay there watching
breathing deep.
Grouse plumes
mark the
Four Directions.
Sharp shafts
at the tips
of feathery paintbrushes
pinpoint center.
Cradled
by mycelial filaments
I slip
out of
tired skin
dissolving
into down.
Silken brown
skeins weave
a grouse nest
around what
is left –
Mole brown,
black ink, a breast
full of eyes
hold me fast
in the snow
until I sleep.
Postscript: I have a particular fondness for grouse and turkeys.
This winter I do not have turkeys living here but I do have grouse, although with the crusty snow I no longer see their tracks and it will be another month or so before they explode out of the tree wells (places where these birds nestle down during inclement months).
When I think about these birds I see them as body birds – that is, birds that are most comfortable living on the earth, although both can fly.
So am I!
In the spring I look forward to listening to the males displaying their beautiful fan shaped tail feathers as they drum in my woods, and if I am fortunate one or two will gather around to eat the seed I scatter. Later the females may have a chick or two. In the last few years I have noticed that many babies don’t survive.
I just read that grouse (these are Ruffed grouse) are one of the birds that are seriously threatened by the way we treat the earth and by climate change. It is shocking to read statistics that tell us that in the US we have lost 60 billion birds since the 1970’s. Every state except Maine has a declining population and yet here we shoot them while encouraging out of state hunters to come and slaughter more.
This is the first winter that I am noticing a sharp decline in the diversity of all birds (except pine siskins) that visit my feeders, and I feel a deep sense of grief that this is so. I hope that the grouse around here will be able to find a safe haven for a few more years.
Meanwhile I treasure each feather they leave for me.
