Bob Bumstead

It happened on Kirk Road,

you know, the one between Fern Ridge

and Territorial Road,

I was riding near

a scraggly orchard,

when a Cooper’s hawk tore the air

just over my head

then wheeled, came back

and dropped a robin

right in front of me

and was gone.

I circled back, 

searched for the hawk

without success,

rode off fifty yards

in hope she would return

for her gift,

not a sign.



Had I been Odysseus,

this would have been

a sign from the gods

to give me pause,

to rethink my course.


as a twenty-first century man

with no oracles to consult,

I rode on.