He steps from the screened porch at 4:06 PM,

just before the birds fly in to feed.

The feeders he filled early this morning

are calling them,

tempting them beyond their capacity for reluctance.

His presence,

sitting on a molding, old, stuffed-pillow-chair

back against the wood lot

at the rear of the property,

just a few steps from

eight multi-hooked shepherd crooks,

seventeen feeders hanging from them,

stymies the birds.

But they forget he is there,

after a while.

Only his eyes moving,

hidden under the brim of his hat

to spy on them,

his body still and at peace.

They flit in,

hesitant at first.

But hunger inspires the hesitant.

First come the ground feeders,

Junkos, Robins and Thrashers.

Then come those who’ve learned to grasp

the suet grids and the perches

around the Squirrel Spinners,

(Droll Yankee’s contribution to animal cruelty)

Finches, Cardinals, Titmouse and Chickadee.

Black oil sunflower seeds,

Mealyworm bricks,

and blueberry suet blocks….

“There’s good eatin’ here!!”

While he fades into the wooded background.

A male Cardinal hooks the curve of the crook

a mere five feet from his chair.

A worm-digging-Robin thrashes mulch

onto his scuffed, old, leather boots.

A Yellow Tailed Finch

perches on a bare branch

an inch

from his hat brim,

stares long enough to get nervous

and flies off to a feeder.

They know they’ve found their supper.

But,

they’ve forgotten their Benefactor.

The food is taken for granted,

so delicious and easy to peck.

The thought of,

“How’d it get here?”

disregarded….

Until he moves.

Until he moves.

Then,

as always in the confusion and questions

following an epiphany,

all a-flutter and in panic,

unanswered,

as they wing away,

the echoing question,

“Who?”