Today the woodpecker
Who has been gone all winter
Is back
We’ve missed her
But still, she doesn’t feel the need to make an entrance or introduction
Here she is
Plying her trade at the riddled gray park
Of the tree that for half the year
Is the center of her world
I imagine her tiny body
Quivering with recognition
As she returns to old roots
Carving the morning on speckled wings
And never asking
“Is there still a place for me?”