MEAD GARDEN’S MARVELS

    The dogs and I walk every Saturday
    In Mead Garden, traipsing woodland trails
    In search of sights and scents along the way,
    The kinds that make for happy, flashing tails:
    Perhaps a gopher tortoise burrowed in her hole,
    Or a scampering brown rabbit dashing past,
    Or an imprudent, vulnerable vole
    Who, even for fleet Tiggy, is too fast.
    But more fun yet is watching watchers watch—
    The birders with their cameras round their necks,
    Peering through long lenses at a notch
    Across the pond where a woodpecker pecks.
         And once we even saw a woodland sprite,
         A fairy princess, and in broad daylight.

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