I
walked down
a worn trail
at end of day
as darkness spread long,
graceful shadows slowly
upon the valley of green.
I listened to sweet call of quail
serenading its mate in meadow
where once my love had sung a song to me.
© 2018 Freeda Baker Nichols
Freeda Baker Nichols 
Sweet! I’d love see quail near us, but I’m told that’s not likely to be.
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The quail no longer come here. We suspect road runners have helped to destroy them by getting their eggs. The quail were on our property when we first moved here. They are Gene’s favorite bird. We loved to hear their call, “Bob White!”
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