Wind Chimes (Kids)
On the hilltop we shook with cold.
At its bottom: a trench, a thicket.
A bird alighted on a branch.
Next thing, after I shot
and the bird’d been dusted,
my friends ran side-footed downslope
to see what it left behind.
No need for mystery:
I shot the bird. It died.
My friends and I were lucky.
had it been a pop can —
I would’ve missed
and we’d still be standing there
Until then, we’d been spared real guilt.
After, we knew what to listen for.
I write about life and sometimes about writing here on Medium and at Fallerideas.com.