The Folly of Being Near Human

Evening was hanging its coat on the hook, as I strolled by…
You were
(in low profile – negotiating the whereabouts
of neighborhood cats)
casting a very small shadow on the pavement.

“Well hello there,” I softly offered – upon discovering
the reality of your determinedly yellow
tail and quiet perfect
profile –

We assessed each other.
You: am I safe?
Me: is she safe?

And then you hopped, and flew,
and hopped again
onto the hood of a caramel-colored pickup truck. Where,

(Surprise!) you let me run a careful finger down
your sweet warm feathers
before –

You realized the folly of being near human
and boldly took wing into the last light of autumn.

© martha lee phelps