We called it Nuthatch Corners
Not because it had a name
But driving by, over warm summers
Windows down, we would hear them
Squeaking from the pines, joyous
They clearcut the corners, one by one
Pines felled, stacked, trucked
I hope the birds were wise enough
To flee, to fly, as their nests were
Felled one by one, to make way for
Scarred red earth, naked clay
Leveled and graded for condos

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