A light rain, almost mist-like,
splattered the vacant side road that runs
from the highway into town, subduing
what remained of autumn’s colors.
The day was warm for November
and mild, and I breathed its fragrant air
through the window I had rolled down
a bit despite the rain. Daydreams
floated past as I drove, suddenly
interrupted by a quick movement
in the fallen leaves that lined the road.
Pheasants! I hadn’t seen one in years.
Ring-necks! The sight of their plumage
sent me back to the time when I
was four and my dad, a hunter,
carefully unrolled layers of newspaper,
revealing his bounty before my eyes
right there on the kitchen’s linoleum floor.
The iridescence of their colors
stunned me and mixed with the scent
of wet feathers and blood.
My dad let me touch me them.
Such magnificent birds!
Today, two pheasants touched me.