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Waiting Owls

This entry is a poem about biking.

Submitted by: Judy Moores 8/2009

This entry relates to the past, present.

Categories include: biking, poetry, unforgettable experiences. 


 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.


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