The Birds around us 4

As we entered a woodlot 

on the crest of the hill

I spotted a bundle of 

brown feathers clinging

to the trunks of

an oak. It was a flicker

probably in migration

the bird was sleeping 

with its face buried 

in the fluffed feathers

of its scapular, but I 

thought it was dead.  Moment

after its flight from the nest a

young Great Hormed Owls rest

on a tree limbs. It percents watch 

from a higher perch among the leaves

of a California Sycamore.