Gulls at a Tractor
By Ann Heyse
In the distance, my neighbor, the one with the tractor,
plows his dark, gray-brown field.
He works the land
readying the soil for seeds.
I know, because I heard sounds of distress that made me go to the window.
It was only gulls
They swooped and swirled around him
at this late afternoon, afterwinter feast
And for me,
delight in those white flutters against a fathoms-deep blue sky
that just might mean spring