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


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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