The Tracks of a Small Bird


Like bent plus signs
or odd tri-tined forks
traced an almost Brownian path
across the fine silt
lining the bottom of an oblong puddle
in the driveway after an April rain.

I stopped and knelt down on one knee
to gaze at the inscription
and saw my own bowed face
and the sky above reflecting
in the mirrory surface.

Reaching out my hand,
I drew a cross
next to the bird’s tracks
and lifted moist fingers
to my forehead, heart, and shoulders,
saying,
“In the name of the Father,
and of the Son,
and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

David M. Frye
April 30, 2009
Denton, Neb.