The First Robin of Autumn

The sky exploded.

She fluttered, startled,

her umber wings beating the still air wildly.

Her tiny heart -

no bigger than the berries she sought -

trembled, fluttered, paused,

and the sky erupted once more.

Onyx eyes scanned the leaves.

She could feel predators nearby,

smell them in the smoke on the breeze,

remember them in the desperation of a destroyed nest,

eggs shattered,

fleshy, pink beasts shrieking as they tossed her kin;

the closest to flight those babes would come.

But there would be more.

She hopped, bolder, resolve warming her fiery breast

as she advanced,

towards the dispersing gaggle of two-legs.

They always left things behind.

Under a moon obscured by acrid clouds

she snatched at clumps of beige sustenance,

nibbling with the ferocity of necessity.

Another crumb, a pecked morsel,

and her world detonated.

Terrified, wheeling,

her stick-like legs propelled her tennis-ball body

away from the two-legs,

retreating from their lights, their explosions, their gunpowder.

Her fragile heart thundered beneath her red breast

but she knew this was just one night.

Just one moment where the sky was no refuge from the two-legs.

Just one day,

and she would carry on.