“Blackberry Winter”, a poem about almost-spring…..

Wild Turkey

The most remarkable thing happened today. A neighbor called and said a wild turkey was in his back yard. This dear neighbor lives two houses from me, and our properties back into a 9 acre woods and now-dead kudzu field. I went out to see, and there was a wild hen turkey!

What is a wild turkey doing three miles from downtown Atlanta?? I have never seen a wild turkey that close (I got up to about 15 feet from this beautiful and LARGE bird) and I came prepared with a bowl of chicken food. She was amazing, maybe more so because she was in an urban setting? Was her GPS broken???

Well, I don’t know if they fly to great heights, but something made her land here. Perhaps the weather because instead of spring like temps, it felt more like Thanksgiving! Turkey eating time.

Today didn’t get above 49 degrees, and tonight it’s dipping into the 30’s. Blackberry Winter time…

Hopefully she will remain, but I better not tell my other neighbor, Bobby, who is a good hunter. The tease of a wild turkey might be too much for him and his shotgun.

By the way, I was followed by 8 cats who thought Mama was going on a field trip. They caught sight of the turkey and went up to investigate. It was funny to see cats acting like a bird dog. My bird dog was safely behind her fence for I knew that she would have torn after this lovely hen. Daphne is a year old, and a German Shorthaired Pointer. That turkey would have been another training exercise for her, but I don’t allow this behavior. She’s killed a few of my hens, but that is natural for a bird dog, I would suppose. I’m putting the turkey off limits to her instinct.

My beautiful picture

I thought I could shame my husband for ‘laying down with dogs’ but it backfired. He is hard to get up in the morning so I sent in the enforcers. They all went back to sleep. Galahad is the big mook on the left. Daphne is the chicken killer on the right. Husband brings home the bacon.

Lady Nyo

BLACKBERRY WINTER

It is Blackberry Winter

One last shot across

The bow of an emerging Spring.

Winter does not play fair.

It will not give up the ghost

Exit with a dignified bow

preferring to show its last rotting tooth.

The blackberries are blooming.

White collar frills surrounding

Kernels of lusty fruit,

Soon to be black as midnight

Sweet as a baby’s kiss

Unavoidable staining of hands and mouths

To be shared with a snake or two down below.

The Easter planting is done

The earth knows Winter’s game

And blankets seed

With dark, moist soil

Cozy enough to shelter tender life.

We will make blackberry wine

From Blackberry Winter.

The present chill will

Sweeten the fruit

And we will give a toast

To Winter’s frayed glory.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2013

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