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YOU AGAIN?
On the path around the pondthe male of a pair of Sandhill Cranesstares closely at us wondering, perhaps,which if any of us actually belongs here.We more than return his stare, fumblingfor our cameras that claim they are phones,wanting to capture this moment.The crane proudly approaches, getsinches from the arm-extended phone. Is hetrying to see what…
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FOUR HAIKU
The aging man staresat the passing flock of ducksimagining flight Green Heron looksout over the placid pondsmall fish get nervous Sandhill Cranes watch usstopping to take their picturethey refuse to smile the heat of summerrises off the warming pondducks paddle to shore
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FIVE BIRDS
The cold winter breezepalm fronds shivering at dawnegrets remain still a thousand birds landengage in conversationa foreign language arriving at duskwhite ibis strive to decidewho is the alpha the cat sits watchingthe sandhill crane approachesthey speak to each other a single ibisstruts across newly mown lawnsdinner now awaits
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AUTHORSHIP
If birds could write, which birdwould write like which author.The Osprey would clearly be Hemingwayknowing the sea, but with no need for an old man.The common Gallinule might becomeBilly Collins, an easy laugh and always entertaining.The crows could be so many writersattending workshops, all still lookingfor a voice to express themselves withoutcausing their audience to…
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ON THE WING
From watching them in flightI know that great egrets flywith their hinge neck folded inwhile Sandhill cranes extend theirs. By listening carefully, I knowthe cry of the male limpkin, his lowerthan his female partner, whilethe cry of the hawk only creates fearin those who might be its prey, andthe male Cardinal showsinfinite patience calling outfor…
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PARADE
They strut across our lawn oblivious to our stares. The cat sits watching these large objects, birds perhaps she thinks, but nothing like those she once hunted for food when she was homeless and pregnant. She is content to sit and watch them, speaks a momentary hello, and realizing that they do not speak cat,…
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FIVE HAIKU
The dawn cedes slowlyto the impinging sunlightbirds greet the new day The great egret liftsher wings embracing the cloudthe winter sun smiles on the barren branchthe red-shouldered hawk awaitsher mate and the sun sandhill cranes wanderalong the shore of the lakelooking for nothing the moon is a cupwaiting for night to fill itvenus sits empty
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POP-UP BUFFET
The cranes walk togetheras a pair, announcingthemselves loudly,strolling across the lawnheaded for the one yardwhere the sod has beentorn out to allow regrading. The equipment has pausedand they take thisas an invitation, stoppingfor a large mealat the new buffet,certain that thiswas done just for themand perhaps a few ibis,should they happen along. Tomorrow this will…
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AN AFTERNOON STROLL
There are three of themand they walk slowly along the sideof the road, proud yes, but are theyold men who see no need to hurry,or self-assumed royalty who dare not. Nor is it clear if they are the samegroup who gathered outsidethe ornate gateway into PGA Villagetwo weeks ago, perhaps tired ofthe endless greens fees…
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WATING GAME
We pull in to the parking lot where our mailboxes are arrayed like so many graves at Arlington, or more like the drawers in a low cost mausoleum. This is the new Postal Service, sharing the burden of the need to cut costs even at the expense of services. Standing nearby are two Sandhill Cranes…
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an old writer and his words 