A daughter-in-law brought illusions
of quiet country life –
eight acres, one house for them, one for us,
on either side of a Mississippi “crick.”
Before daybreak, heaven help us!
Rooster’s hallelujah!
Wrens and sparrows file into choir across power lines.
In the treetops, cardinals and robins pick up the chorus,
accompanied by woodpecker’s rat-a-tat drumbeat.
All day long, bees buzz
from coreopsis to zinnia, minding their own business.
Frogs “Ga-lump” or “Quonk” from the bog.
Hens squawk, quibbling over personal space.
The bantam cackles, “Look what Marma laid!”
Rooster, reclaiming center stage, repeats his morning song.
Deepening dusk brings romance.
Courting tree frogs resound a raspy trill.
Cicadas stridulation reverberates through the air.
Crickets rub their wings, producing chirps.
Finally, as the frog lullaby entices one to sleep,
gunshots ring out.
Not to worry, just the neighbor
protecting his chickens from a possum.
Quiet in the country?
Nope – just a trade –
City Cacophony for a Country Chorus.