Submitted by: Judy Moores, 8/3/09

This entry relates to the past. 

Waiting Owls

In the early coolness of a valley summer day,

          I bike five miles east to Second Street 

Workman bang on the railroad cars listening for loose connections.

A garbage truck heads for the waste removal plant.

Bicyclists head into town from the apartment complex built on a super fund site.

Roofers hammer tarpaper on an automotive shop – “opening soon.” 

On beyond the workout gyms, I slow my bike to a stop,

          cross the road, and look though the chain-link fence.

In the distance, silhouettes of jackrabbits sit poised,

          ready to move without notice.

And there, not so far away, lays a thick donut mound

          of dirt.

                        Five owl chicks peer at me from the hole.

                        A parent stands guard nearby.

The field, large, brown, and barren, looks like a bad

          Crewcut; mowed thoughtfully, I surmise,

           before the chicks hatched.

“The owner has no plans to develop,” my friend

          had told me.

“He’s leaving it for the animals.”

          And yet….  And yet….

Development to the left of them,

          Development to the right of them,

                    In the Valley of Death,

                                    Six owls wait.

                                                                              —    Judy Moores