Fledging

The fledgling crow stood on the bench

for a long time, its eyes blinking,

its claws crooked on the planks,

its tail feathers stubby.

I watched it for a long time,

until its final stubby flight

into the grass by the fence

I watched another one later 

(or perhaps the same one)

balancing on too-thin branches

in the brush pile — tentative shifting,

weighing the give of the branch

against the thrust of take-off,

hopping to equally flimsy branches,

getting ready to try again

We are so very much like these crows,

almost or maybe able to fly,

blinking for a long time

in the uncertainty of the tasks at hand,

lovingly watched over all the while.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 9, 2016