The Flamingo Mystery, March 2020
by Kathryn Santana Goldman
Another day without people begins.
New morning rituals—becoming habits.
I wipe down counters, scrub doorknobs,
wash my hands, wash my hands, wash my hands.
Seeking a moment of calm,
I walk out to my front garden and find
a bright red flamingo boldly standing on one wire leg,
an abrupt addition to my artistically designed garden.
Then looking down the street,
I spy more have landed.
A green one for Rhonda,
orange for Chris, purple for Carmel.
Another day of social distancing
disrupted by this
of unexpected playfulness.
What is the source?
No one confesses to
the mystery of our avian guests.
I called mine Pepper,
Rhonda called hers Chive.
It probably wasn’t wise to name them,
but I’m eager to hold on.
The next morning
teacup in hand,
I retraced my steps--
Pepper was gone.
All of the flock had flown,
leaving the touch
of human kindness
in their wake.