Interloper

 
Although I walk here often,
it’s clear I still don’t belong.
I long for softer feet,
for a scent that isn’t so human,
so that I can get to know the creatures
in their true, relaxed state.

But no – crows caw their warnings
as a pheasant streaks across my path,
hurrying into hiding.
Deer stop their grazing,
watching me, wary and big-eared as they discern
whether to feign nonchalance and trot away,
or to bound with their tail-flags waving white.
A robin anxiously draws my attention
away from a nest I can’t even see.

If only they all realized
how dumb my human senses are,
they wouldn’t be so alarmed.
If the ducks were aware
of how their panicked quack-flapping startled me -
likely more than I terrified them -
they would know I’m not much of a threat.

But all their instincts must tell them
that my kind is bad news…
and I can’t say I blame them.
So I have to be content with
a last-second glimpse of submerging muskrat
as I go stomping blindly by,
a clumsy human intruding on a world
where I clearly can’t be trusted.