I am setting out young seedlings when
suddenly pandemonium erupts
in a nearby stand of weeping birches.

A jackdaw swoops toward me
with three fieldfares in hell-bent pursuit.
I feel the hot-edged swoosh of black wings.

The thief jettisons a blue, red-speckled egg.
Turn your back only for an instant.
The stolen egg at my feet oozes into the grass.

I lay down my trowel, remembering
an Easter Sunday morning,
the ambulance, the weak pulse.

The pursuers come back.
A female lands in our apple tree
and goes bird-berserk.