Kin

At the bottom of the yard today,
Down where the ground slopes
Into the creek
I sat near the great fir tees
Listening to the breathless hush
In which we each make our sounds
And commit our movements.
Looking up I saw the crows
Flying with twigs in their beaks
Building their nests.

I had built a nest for my children
With the help of my mate.
I had worked
A day
A week
Years – to feed my chicks.
I know the struggle
I know the joy
I know the kinship
With these birds
Whose young,
As did mine,
Look awkwardly
Through bright eyes.

These trees
I know too,
Who have toiled
Establishing themselves
From tiny seeds.
Haven’t I
Been a tiny seed,
Braved the journey of growth,
Of winter and storm,
Of competition
Disease and fall?

I witness
Upon the body
Of these trees
The marks of life
As upon my own.
I am a kin
To this wide garden
In which
All manner of things
Exist with me.

Copyright ©2001 Tony Crisp