Just Hanging On

I sometimes go walking in places where this bird used to be…

---

The Hooded Robin

The Hooded Robin sits
where wilderness
used to be, 

black and white
against the grey
of weathered fence posts.

Beyond the trees
a chainsaw works.

Across the clearing
the highway hisses,
without end. 

The robin lifts,
takes an insect
from the air,

returns
to the same dead branch.

Somewhere in the yellow fields
its call disappears

before another
can answer.

A Hooded Robin

Around here, the yellow fields are canola. They brighten the landscape every spring, but they also remind me how fragmented these woodlands have become. Whenever I see a Hooded Robin, which isn’t very often, it feels like I’m watching a bird just hanging on.

---