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Wednesday, March 28, 2012

MOTHERING

Right over there, last month,
we came upon a turkey hen
with her five chicks. She
regarded us, rightly so, as
intruders. This wood was world
to her. We were aliens.
She clucked her innocent
brood across the clearing, herded
them into the brush. All but
one obeyed. He wandered well
away from safety, not knowing
where or when to turn.
We moved on, helpless to help,
knowing better than to try.
Half an hour on, we could still
hear the hen's repeated cry:
    Where did you go?
    Where are you now?
    Come here.

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