They will of course have heard you coming
long before you ever see
or hear them,
even though you imagine yourself
being as sure-footed and quiet
as a fox in springtime
You may step ever so lightly
down the well-worn deer trails
silently push away the clinging branches,
always be careful to stay
cloaked by the sound
of rushing water
But they will of course have heard you coming
long before the male bolts out from the brush,
exploding up and away in an instant,
into the trees to distract you
with beating wings
and angry cries
And if you patiently back-track
from the launching place, carefully follow
his muddy steps in the damp ground,
with luck you might discover
where the hen sits hidden
on speckled eggs
Lying half-buried beneath her,
cradled in the softest nest of grass,
breathing slowly through their thin shells,
feeling safe and warm and invisible,
and they will of course have heard you coming
for a long time now
