The Field

At one forty-five a.m. lights danced and
flared across Orion's belt,

silent helicopters, Tornados responding.

In its proscription the field contains all,

Today, at breakfast, a single pheasant
loped across the loam
like a chinless wonder.
There are the loners 

who stroll across the furrows

or the hare who sits
in the hollows between.

The desperately gregarious
who must be with others
if only to fight.

Startled they rise or bolt.
You wait to see 

the what and why -

Nothing.
A chimera?

Then settle and continue until.....