Traveling Birds

     
     
Today I walked with Moose.
I admitted I was worried for him,
that he'd seemed rather morose of late.

He told me he wasn't sad
and he wasn't angry,
a little lonely, is all.

When I asked after his family
Moose related how the yearling
got herself caught in a tangle of barbed wire.

He'd watched as the rancher who found her
put her down with a .30-30 slug and dragged her away.

After that his wife ran off east of the hills
with another bull, an old friend of Moose's,
in fact.

Silence filled us.
We walked the creekbed
with the current.

After a while I offered if there was anything
to cheer him up, I'd do it.

He huffled and snorted,
looked at me out of one immense
dark eye, passed a hell of a fart
but said nothing.

You've been eating the compost,
I observed.

I know it's not good for me, but I
can't seem to stop.
I get so tired of low grass and weeds.
I've taken a peculiar fancy to your
coffee grounds, he confided.

Shall I cover that?

Yes, (sigh), it would probably be best,
not even so much for me,
but one of the elk has been picking out
the egg shells, and he smells terrible.

Moose flared his nostrils,
turned his head abruptly.
I stepped back to make way
for the large panel of antler,
tufts of velvet furze singular
in the low angle of sunlight.

Do you smell something?

A leaf pile burning,
diesel exhaust,
wind out of Canada--snow's coming--
and the old cat, she's out prowling.

I saw her track near the wood pile.
Is she dangerous?

No, she's all but lost her teeth.
Still, she likes to come in,
drop some sign,
give the does a scare,
though at her age I think they'd outrun her.

Why does she bother? I asked

Why do you walk in the woods?

I pondered that a while
until he interrupted my thinking.

I'd like a cigarette, he said.
Caught off guard, I answered rationally,
I'm sorry, I don't smoke.

Next time, then?

I realized it was a question
and agreed to bring cigarettes next time.
I almost asked what brand
but checked myself,
smiling.

It'll be skinny this year, he mused.
I'd like not to have to graze the winter.
If I could lay down and sleep it off with a
warm dream, I would.
I've always envied the traveling birds.
They talk of the south in such colors
I can't imagine,
and always with a little twang
in their throats I've never
been able to place.