November

I fell asleep under the stars
and woke with first light
just as wild turkeys trundled
noisily up our drive.
Like so many other families
I have known, mama and papa
admonishing the little ones
too busy exploring dawn
to hear gloomy warnings.
The Papa, resplendent in tobacco
browns under glossy stippled black
while Mama, aloof snowy white
was taking in the world with cool
sidelong glances. The children,
a mottled muddled mix
of in-between, following
haphazardly each new distraction.
Still Papa gathered them
all like chicks in an apron,
a huddled clutch of down
under his broad chest
and so they came and went
as if they had never been
while in the still of daybreak
I went back to sleep again.