A Murder Scene Unfolds

A Murder Scene Unfolds

It must have been murder,
or nature.
When raptors fly and sieze their cuddly prey,
what do we call such things?

My frigid feet upon the snow
made crunchings familiar to all who walk the white.
And coming around the bend of hill and tree
the scene unfolded there before my eyes
like a puzzle seeking solving.
A conundrum of nature.
What at first appeared to be delicate fingertips
brushing the snow
became upon investigation a scene of grisly horror--
or of nature--
I don't know.


The snow was strewn with markings of a struggle.
Impressions in the white became a trail of clues
that led me to and fro until,
cognizant of the recent happenings here,
I stood with stunned and awe-struck countenance.
The footprints told the tale I now impart.
The rabbit, large and meaty, entered from the north.
It's pace was slow and unhurried.
A peaceful morning, no doubt, for the cuddly one.
Suddenly, with footprints deeper
and with more distance between them,
I could easily envision the rabbit as it panicked.
Leaping, terrified, there was really nowhere to go.
The deep impression where the great talons first found their mark
was certain.
The struggle began.
The random wrestlings of one so close to death
made their marks in the snow.
The golden eagle,
I perceived with wing marks and guessed measurements
and knowledge of native beast and fowl,
assuredly did not expect such struggle or such weight.
The happenings were desperate and prolonged.
But finally, the mighty raptor prevailed.
One last clear impression showed both tips of wings and weight of prey.
The eagle, enjoying its lunch,
will live to see another winter's end.



But what of my journey?
The snow melted in Spring,
and with it, its mysteries.

* * *

So here's a fine rough draft of a poem that maybe I'll fix one day. Until then, you can see for yourself the grisly scene.

Murder, or nature?