Early January in the Mountains

by Lisa Hodgens

A red-tailed hawk screams;
Northwest winds gather brown leaves,
Hurling them to whirlwinds.

Geese, honking, call to me,
and I rush outside to see
their V etched against the sky.
A sharp sound booms down the ridge;
I do not stay to witness the fall.

A great blue heron
soars past pines, hickory, oak;
Soque River near
but not a lake to wade in.
What had that heron to do
with mountains, sailing past me
to clear blue horizon? 

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