Plum time (past midsummer)

There are three jays,
plucking green plums in
branches that bend around
gaps in blue-white sky.

Earlier, the woodpecker's
children complained
that life wasn't fair.
Their plumage was so bright---
their parents ignored them
while the smaller one was pecked.

A jay flew across from its tree
to their pole, crest up;
to see what was happening,
to see if anyone was going to die.
And now the flock of them move
between layers and shades of green,
finding joy in ripeness.