Magpie  by Nancy Schatz Alton

The magpie has my mind.

Her tail—what is it for?

Her color scheme, her flight, her wing span.

How she perches not for me but for me.

How the green hills—treeless—exist not for me but for me.

How her contours etch a scene I want to capture.

Magpie flight, white owl flight, the turning of my mind toward sunlight.

The seeing of what once was hidden—the humanness.

The likeness of everyone.

The start contrasts of my former thoughts

like the white on black pattern of the magpie color scheme.

Their flight—gorgeous.

Their resting stance—mysterious.

What takes place inside each person?

An interior puzzle not always for me to know.

I hold the green hills, the snowy owl, the startling magpies in my mind.

Place them next to the gracious gift of knowing people whom I never knew before.

My mind grounds itself in green, then flies like a magpie over the winery terrain.


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