. . . [I]t is especially important that the bobwhite’s habitat not be too thick at ground level. 

—National Bobwhite Conservation Initiative

Pasture ripples with cabbage whites, 

crocus moths, mockingbirds.

They frisk the air, shuttle

from fencepost to chickweed.

Switchgrass and prairie clover,

clusters of raspberries 

on slender canes, pale blooms,

prickly thicket—this wild, unkempt 

field invites the bobwhite to nest

on the ground. Among loose natives

she chants her name, broods in coveys, 

chicks fragile as trillium— 

snuffed out by thick sod,

rugs of fescue. Nearby

a gray-white yearling whinnies, 

munches on forbs, strolls 

to the corner trough to drink 

as heat drains to evening. 

Groundhogs pull up 

from their portals to browse, nose 

the air, sniffing dusk. 

The bobwhite’s low whistle 

rings. Night shuts 

its purple lid.