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DO THEY CARE?
I cannot begin to imagine what the birds that overtake our small wetland each evening must think of us. They must know we stare at them as they congregate in the last light of the departing sun. I do know they flaunt their freedom, moving through the sky at one moment gracefully, at another with…
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NIGHT AGAIN
It is well past midnight and outsidethe birds and frogs in the wetlandannounce the rain, unnecessary really,as it beats a steady rhythm on the roofand windows, pierced onlyby claps of thunder and the lightningwhich gives them short announcement.The light dances through the closedwindow blinds on what ought to bean ink black night, and I knowthe…
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GOOD MORNING
The wetland isno longer wet a burgeoning forest of Carolina WillowThe birds that nested hereby the multiple dozens that overnighted by the thousands have moved on.But each morning I arise to the call of the Limpkin the closest thing we have to a rooster.
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I QUIT
Nature joined me uninvited this morningas I sat on the lanai overlooking whatonce was a bird filled wetland, now grownover with Carolina willow andthe too frequent Brazilian Cherry.“The birds have given up on you,”I thought I heard nature say, “I supposeyou miss them?”. “Terribly,” I said“for they were a part of me that hasnow withered…
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SHE
She is territorial in a modest way. She can sit for hours looking out on the yard and the now dry wetland beyond. The birds come and go and she watches. They do not bother her and she does not bother them. They are part of the landscape, as she now is, she imagines. Even…
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MINE
The hawk sits on the sign warning us that beyond is a conservation area, and not our backyard. We know this, of course, as the sign is in our backyard, but the hawk has learned not to trust humans for we do not act logically and he wants no one messing with his nest just…
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WATCH CAREFULLY
Stand on the edge of the wetlandas the sun sinks slowly on the horizonand the clouds burn a color that waterdoes not recognize at any other time of day.Watch as the flocks of ibis and egretscircle lazily then suddenly diveat odd angles onto desired percheson the bushes awaiting their arrival.The Great Egret standing tallon the…
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AND THE RAINS CAME
It may sound odd, but what I miss mostis the spring rain, so short lived, alongthe roads in Highland Park in Rochester.You may say “but you live in Floridawhere the seasons are measured bywet and dry” and we do get rain, sometimesseemingly in Biblical proportions.and the Blue-winged Teals have returnedto our wetland now almost half…
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NOT HERE
There were those January nights whenwinter wrapped us in its chill, but withdrewits frequent blanket of clouds, and Iwould go outside peering throughthe fog of my breath and lookinto the sky at the aurora borealis,watching the electrons danceon a black scrim dotted with myriad stars.Years later and miles away I missthe occasional night shows for…
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WATCHING
Under the ever watchful eyeof the Red-shouldered Hawkthe Great Blue Heron foragesfor sticks for its slowlygrowing nest which ithas carefully nestled inthe heart of the small wetland.The hawk, his own nestnow complete stands sentrywarning me, my camerato keep our distance for thisis his territory and onlythose of fellow wingare allowed to enter intoits privileged realm.Soon…
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an old writer and his words 