Buzzard
With strong slow beats
her shadow sweeps
the void between the trees.
Four legged creatures freeze,
as she passes, even the deer.
I too stand still, though not afraid
the predator still strikes
an ancient leap from my heart.
Aware of me, yet unaware,
as I watch her she glides to a branch
and watches me.
I move and the forest moves with me:
no surprise now, the shadow
has lost her power, takes off,
and flies away to the fields.
© Paul McCombie 2010