Caren Krutsinger | + Follow Poet |
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Hoot Owl Saved You

sickly stickly thickly tree
No one to strike you down
Axes about but no woodcutters
And me with a sore finger

You are unsightly in my garden
an ugly renegade tree
I tried to rid myself of you last year
Yet here you are stronger than ever

An owl hoot begs me for mercy on your behalf
Lucky for you Native American ancestors have just saved you
Maybe next year I will chop you down; this year you are safe.
Thanks to the love of the Wyandotte who used to traipse this land.

Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2020

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Michelle Faulkner Date: 4/21/2020 6:21:00 PM The spirits of Native Americans are all around, in trees, grass - even owls! Profound write, Caren- Login to Reply Caren Krutsinger Date: 4/22/2020 3:27:00 AM When I hear the hoot of an owl, I remember that the land I live on was once known as "Indian Village" - the Wyandotte would come down the river in boats in the spring and there would be hundreds of tents pitched along the stream in my backyard which runs about ten miles.