Bird watching

Sitting on the fence, back to me,
it doesn’t know I am watching
as it watches the yard next door.

Yellow beaked, black bodied,
head bobbing, eyes darting,
the blackbird looks for food.

Then, it sits still for a long time,
head held high, like a falcon,
as if sunning its beak.

I wonder if birds meditate,
or plan their day, maybe
stake out hunting grounds.

Or are they totally unaware
of the past, escaping fast
and the future, madly onrushing.

Living in the timeless Now,
unconcerned, about
an illusion called time.

Heeding only the voice
of instinct, as it surely guides
them from birth to death.

When I turn away,
it’s still there, unmoving,
as if frozen in time.