I wish I spoke bird.

Chipmunk or coyote would be cool too,

as would deer or bear.

Birds hop in the nearby grass as the rain falls,

seeking worms.

Four-legged beasties climb my trees,

venture bravely into my yard,

grab pears the size of their bodies and drag them back to their nests.

I hear larger creatures rustling in the blackberry bushes

filling up the ravine, catch an occasional glimpse.

Note the marks where they rub their antlers on my trees.

Sometimes they pause,

look at me side-eyed as I sit there,

meaning them no harm.

I wish I could tell them that.

I wish they’d come close when I hold out my hand,

land and balance there,

fragile bones light as air.

Or curl at my feet, lick my hand,

snuffle at me as they shake their heads in the sun.

We could be, if not friends,

then at ease with each other,

sharing the space,

all of us stuck on this spinning blue marble together.

But it would be a bad idea

based on a lie;

that people are a good thing.

photo credit: Oliver Wright