Jet

On a neighborhood ramble today
I saw a plane.
In fairness, I heard the droning first,
low rumbling, foreign in the morning stillness.
it drew my gaze away from the mountain panorama before me,
to search out the arcing white rift across the sky.
There it was.
Conspicuous.
Cruising altitude tens of thousands of feed above,
yet shouting down at me nonetheless
a child throwing its tantrum.

I saw a bird.
A raven more specifically,
jet against the same field of blue,
foreground to its shiny aluminum clad peer already dissolving away towards points west.
Not a wing flapping,
just hanging, coasting, soaring on air,
symbiotic
its tail feathers just so,
a flick a shift,
silently holding course.

Nature teases us.
She makes the vastly complex appear easy,
filling our heads with Icarus dreams,
so high we climb,
yet so far.

As read at the Crested Butte Mountain Words festival, poetry open mic May 27 2022