"Rooster" by Helen Ogilvie

I tried, I really tried to bring those wood planks back to life. I soaked them long in water so they'd loosen up and warp into long, curved clusters of grain, like the long, curved clusters of feathers around the regal rooster's neck. I dipped my pen over and over into a pool of black ink. (I don't know how deep; I never felt the bottom.) A branch from a fern reaches out with its countless, repetitious leaves, mirroring the rooster's foliage-like tail feathers. A gentle wind passes by, picking up a few stray needles of hay. Slim leaves and feathers quiver alike. The ferns and grass and trees, alive (as were once the planks of wood that make up the rickety fence), but they can't move about, or peck, or cock-a-doodle-doo!