out my bedroom window, 6 a.m
I saw a bird standing among what looked like a bed of small white flowers
as the bird bent down, the flowers seemed to lift and float before settling down to the ground
as I watched closer, my eyes making their way through the still darkness of early morning
I saw the truth of the bird's movements, he was tearing into, and ripping away from a form his talons grasped and stood above
It was not till later when I ventured down stairs, and out of doors into daylight that I knew what creature he was feasting upon, what had fallen
As I lay sleeping, gently dreaming, this story, this battle of life and death took place in (what I think of as) my backyard.
Every day vast and small, epic battles to those involved occur over and over of which often I am blissfully unaware.
This occupies my mind from time to time, this over-lapping of space, this not truly knowing each other, what goes on in the very ground I walk upon, the worms, the insects, in the grass, in the trees, the plants, even the very air that flows through this space, all the little actions and interactions involved, of which much of, I know not much of.