We walk by pasture upon still pasture
of horses grazing, swarms of flies
on their muzzles, a plump of geese

on the lake, one, head tucked beneath
a wing, dozes. Men and their dogs sit on the bank
motionless, watching their bobbers.

A red-headed woodpecker chases a bug
threading the black-painted fence posts.
A hawk drowses on the branch of a dead tree,

tracking us with a slight tilt of its head.
Another is wheeling high in the sky. A third
drinks from a muddy puddle.

A rabbit freezes in place as we pass.
When we cross the bridge to leave,
some twenty birdsongs later, sweaty and tired,

a heron lifts from the pond below us
and glides to the far shore
to roost for the night.