Drawing

I can hear it.
The drumming and hammering
Upon a rotted-out branch.
Perhaps there is a juicy grub?
Or maybe the need to reach out to its own kind?
I’m here
I’m alive
Where are you?

My guess would be a downy woodpecker
I see them frequently
When they brace themselves against the odds
And grab a seed at the feeder, then flee
But today I only hear
Not see
Lost as it should be
Amidst the almond shaped leaves
And the avenues of grey-brown bark.

But the bird has served a silent purpose
Unwittingly
And innocently
It draws me away
From my cauldron of self
Which occasionally needs a good stir
I am looking up now
Not down
I am reaching out now and opened
Not inward and closed
Stretching and unlocking
Receptive to worlds awaiting.