Aaron Alvarado via Unsplash

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.


God knows:

had it been a pop can —

anything —

I would’ve missed

and we’d still be standing there

freezing.


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.

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