California Quail

Rolling golden hills, a hum
a throb, a whir, the sound 
of quail lifting off, 
short bursts of pulsing flight.

My heart beats in harmony with their wings, 
their brown eyes see my loneliness.
I join their covey. I need this family.

We settle, ground level foraging,
gathering chaparral grasses and seeds.
I admire their welcoming self-assuredness,
their regal, erect walk, cloaked 
in royal feathered finery, designer top knot, 
teardrop shape without sadness.

I strut with them holding my plume,
Grander than a pheasant. 
I crave this community. No complex questions. No worries 
about final days, wings unclipped, celebratory freedom.

A stomping soft beat of little feet follow mother.
Father stands guard, look-out and protector.
I want these parents that fold around their children.
Hum, throb, whir.
I surrender, become, join.

Pamela Bordisso

Pamela Bordisso lives in Kelseyville, California where she enjoys creating what she calls hersanctuary garden.  She tends native plants to support birds and beneficial insects, a koi pond, bee hives, chickens, vegetable and herb gardens.  Her great joy is having others visit to enjoy the scents, sounds, and shade.  She tries to do something every day to help our world.  Some days that is writing.  She has been published in theLast Stanza Journal, Colossus Press, The Sun, andThe Lake County Bloom. She has been heard on the local radio station’s program,Word WeaversandThe Lake County Rootedin Poetry Podcast number 16.