Friday, September 26, 2008


Cool air, downed leaves
we ran the trail fast, bike led by dogs
led by the elusive scent of possibility.

A small bird, one wing not working right,
stumbled across the trail in front of us.

The dogs got there first.

Fauna, the wild one, scooped him up
gently in her mouth,
his foot twitching, his belly white
with soft down. On command
she dropped him, then scooped him again
in her mouth, cradled on her pink tongue
though he lay still. Once again
she dropped him, and he twitched
lightly but made no other effort
to escape. I laid the bike down
and held him in my hands—dark, soft

as he pushed tentatively against my hands
with his small beak. Dark head, he seemed
alert now, so I let him go
under a tree
hopefully to recover. The dogs—
so uncommonly good—stayed with the bike
and by some miracle didn’t drag it into the ditch
bending cogs, but instead
waited for their treat
not so restless now, though like me

they cannot sit still
on these days when the trees don their
Halloween costumes
[bare limbs reaching

and frost waits for us
slippery, deceptive
in hidden pockets of shade.

Rachel Westfall
September 26, 2008


Kyddryn said...

Oh, yes, Autumn...

The gypsy is stirring.

Shade and Sweetwater,

restless me ;) said...

Journey of a gypsy: always time and energy to lend a helping hand to another in need, lovely.

Thanks for sharing...journey-on...

devilsivy said...

Gentle dogs, I think I know who taught them. Adventure kindly!