Wednesday, 2 May 2012
WATCHING MINNIE CHASING CROWS
The spring time walk through dripping fields
where dandelions roar and shake their glistening cobwebbed manes
and buttercups blaze their yellow streaks
between the sodden green blades,
the teaming, steaming sward.
Black birds hop and flap like competing teams of lazy ballroom dancers
and off she goes after them with little hope
prancing through the meadow, leapfrogging damp tufts
in a headlong dash to catch one unaware,
the preening, scheming bird.
She never does, never comes close, but always runs back to heel
as though she had and gets the nod, the look of approval
and a smile or a laugh out loud that sets her off again
on another wild goose chase to try for murder in the murder,
the bird's collective word.
Watching Minnie chasing crows knowing that she'll never catch one.
What simple fun it is, what a glorious past time
not a moment wasted so I could spend all day, a life long quest
watching Minnie chasing crows,
Nothing more absurd.