Thank you, God, for Texas woods,
Roots of oaks; stones and weeds
Vines that wallow in the breeze
Lichen hanging from the trees
When, at six o’ clock the sun
Proves that green indeed means green
In and on and through the leaves.
Thank you, God, for Texas dirt
Black and strong and curt
Roly-polies trudging by
Birds agabbing up on high
Eloquence and shapes of sky
And of course the peacock’s cry.
Note: I wrote this at Mayfield Park in Austin, TX, where peafowl reside.
There is nothing native about a peacock in Texas, at least not until recent years. I was simply marking what I heard.
Below is a monotone audio recording by me: