Movement ahead brings my eyes up
from the stone-strewn path that
demands my attention
A red-bellied woodpecker
moves quickly from tree to tree ahead of me
flashing grey and red with frenetic bursts of flight
“Flit” is the word, isn’t it, for what I’m seeing?
That’s always struck me as a written word —
have I ever heard it said it aloud?
I’ll do that, I decide, and twice declare it to the trees
With the bird out of site, I drop my head and
start off once more, not quite flitting
but with a step clearly lighter than before