It’s Poetry Friday!
Tracey at Tangles and Tails hosts us this weekend. Tracey and I met at last year’s Highlights retreat with Irene Latham and Charles Waters. We are so lucky that she has joined the Poetry Friday community!
I am heartsick.
Yesterday, the tree guys came to prune back our large mesquites, palo verdes, ebonys, hopseeds. It’s a full morning’s work. The crew was waiting for me, bundled in flannels and beanies; me, speeding home from a quick workout hoping to beat them to my house. So in my rush of apologies for making them wait, I forgot to tell them.
I forgot to show them the nest. I forgot to ask them to work around this blessing of joyful desert noise that has delighted us since returning to Arizona last October. While we were gone, a covey of quail – Gambel’s Quail – took over our back yard. They used to scritch-scratch beneath the creosote and cacti that live on the other side of our wrought ironed fence, rarely venturing into our yard due to the large furry four-legged that keeps watch. I try to imagine their conversation. Who had to be convinced?
“Are you kidding me? Why would we risk our lives?”
“Look! There’s thick-branched trees and shade and all those seed pods for the taking!”
I don’t know if they came two-by-two (Gambel’s quail are monogamous and mate for life) or as an entire covey. But when we arrived back in late autumn, they would return to our yard from their desert outings each evening. First, perching on the fence. If the coast was clear, it’s a straight shot to the ebony tree. If two- and four-leggeds are outside, they hopscotch tree to tree to make it safely back to their nests, whit-whit-whit’ing all the while.
Mornings they would sit tightly tucked in nests built on thorny branches, camouflaged by the canopy – undoubtedly dreading the sound of the patio door opening onto darkness. Just the threat of our Berner rushing past to relieve herself would send the flock fleeing to the hillside.
I forgot.
And before I knew it, the yard was abuzz with saws and the crack of branches splitting away. They dragged nine enormous piles of tree debris to the front yard and fed it all to the hungry chipper parked behind their trucks.
And in the eerie quiet after they left, I stepped outside to survey their work. And I found her.
sound of silence
she lay heavy on her side
I found her
fullness of death beside the ebony
beauty stilled –every gorgeous gray
feather neatly lay over breast and wing
top knot in place, grace
in stillness she lay
and her kin gone to mourn
in private, my morning flayed
by that sound, a yawning ache
silence breaks me
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
Patricia Franz is a kidlit writer and published poet. She believes children, dogs, and sourdough have a lot to teach us about life, joy, and wonder. She has raised two boys, four dogs, and holds a master’s degree in Theology with a focus on children’s spirituality. Patricia, her husband, her Bernese Mountain dog, Bonny, and her sourdough starter split their time between the Arizona desert and the Sierra Nevada mountains. 
“I found her” is an especially poignant line. Your writing is so evocative. Thank you for sharing your moment.
Oh. No. This is so, so sad, Patricia! Although beautifully written, it breaks my heart and is sending a tear rolling down my cheek. I am so sorry!
Grief in silence, whisper a prayer of silence.
Your words have touched my heart, Patricia. Beautifully written, beautifully shared. May your poetry bring you solace.
Wow…I feel this loss.
Heartbreaking! Good that you expressed yourself in poetry. Even with our best intentions, our footprint on the planet is large.
Oh Patricia! This is so sad, but beautifully told. The lines “my morning flayed/by that sound” especially moving.
So beautiful, so sad…We have experienced the wild destructiveness and limited focus of such crews, and the losses in their wakes.
“grace in stillness”, a paean to her, Patricia. I am sorry and hopeful for you that the others will return.
Heartbreak. Your regret is palpable and it awakens in my every regret for every mistake I’ve ever made. I’m crying for you and your quail.
So sad. My heart goes out to you. Flayed, indeed. What beautiful birds—and poem.
Oh, Patricia! I’m so sorry! This breaks my heart. Your love for this beautiful creature, your memorial words, your sadness and grief over such a loss. I’m sorry. ❤️❤️
Patricia, I’m so sorry. Hugs to you, and thank you for sharing your pain in such a beautiful, bittersweet way.