That eagle
how did he survive
the vicious swoop and lunge
of those angry crows
trying to save their nesting young
from evisceration
by the raptor's talons?
I stopped to watch
never having seen
one-hundered cawing crows
twisting and dive bombing
before.
But once the cause
of all the fracas became clear
I knew,
understood viscerally,
why those black winged protectors
attacked.
I was late and couldn't wait
to see the outcome.
But walking home, passing again
by the tall fir where the battle had raged
I wondered,
if, as a child,
such a large armament had been amassed for me,
would the one supposed to represent
loyalty and strength,
bravery and redemption,
have been stymied?
Would he so easily
have escaped culpability?
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