This is the field across the street from our house.  Lovely, isn’t it?

A new nest rests

in the pine tree now.  

The Mourning Dove

and her eggs are gone.  

Too early for the eggs to have hatched, 

we wonder what happened –

a snake? the hawks? or

some other unsavory villain?  

Her nest was flat and
open, 

gently curved like a palm, 

an open hand 

she sat upon. 

What’s left looks flimsy now, 

oddly broken twigs 

scattered 

like a child’s game 

of pick-up sticks.  

The new one – a Robin’s nest – 

stands nearly
five inches high, built 

like a fortress, with thick, 

heavy walls.  

It lies on the

North side of the tree 

and slightly more hidden 

than the Dove’s was on the south.  

In the farm field across the road, 

a strip of grass grows 

greener by the day.  

Stretched like a runner 

beneath a line of trees

that march single-file toward 

the distant mountains,

empty fields spread on either side.

We’re waiting to see what will

be planted, what will

come of it all. 

We build and plant and 

hope for the best, 

learning as we go:

Build your nest 

on the North side, 

high and
strong.  

Plant when the danger 

of frost has passed.  

Follow the greening road 

home – always.