wetland

March 3, 2023

WETLAND BRAVADO

He was the smallest, that
is what drew you to him.
Still, he had a certain bravado
a serious strut to his walk.
Perhaps it was because
his father was there, a protector
in part, in another part a challenge.
He knew his mother was looking
so it became a matter of pride.
He could imagine himself
a father one day, his own children
trailing behind him threatening
to break away, knowing full well
they were not ready yet, needed
him for protection from
the always present predators.
That was life in the wetland
for most wading birds,
the only life he knew or wanted.

January 1, 2023

CIRCLING

This morning as the bell
signaled the end of morning zazen
the whistling ducks took up
their song, circling the wetland
as if inviting me to photograph them.

They quickly grew bored waiting
and flew off to a place
I do not know, can not imagine.

Perhaps they will return
this afternoon, circle
in a duck like pose as I capture
them with the long lens, and this
will satisfy them for another day,
but perhaps they will not return
and punish me again
for my morning absence.

October 26, 2022

ABSURD, FL

The utter and complete absurdity
of living in Florida can
be ever so easily illustrated.

Last evening the neighbor’s
dog decided it needed
to express itself and did so
in clear and loud terms.

The limpkins and gallinules
in the wetland behind
both our homes shouted back
and based on my admittedly
limited vocabulary of bird
there were several four
letter words and at least one
upraised middle claw,
for that language is universal.

And all of this was once
Native American land and I
am certain they would not be
pleased at what we have created
and the birds would agree.

July 23, 2022

CATHARTIDAE

They circle slowly
each in its own tier
of a near cloudless sky,
their wings still
as if frozen, riding
the breeze, dipping
and rising, going nowhere,
needing nowhere,
riding, riding, looking
down at the wetland,
and circling, until
with a shift in the breeze
the vulture vortex
shifts east, and you
watch them shrink,
thankful that they
are simply out
for a flight, and not
finding a meal
in the reeds
and trees
where all
the other
birds live.

May 11, 2022

CECI N’EST PAS

This morning the sky
is a painting by Magritte
as it is most days, no title
Ceci n’est pas un ciel.

The birds rise from
the wetland as Escher
would imagine them,
the small wetland
once a place that
might be painted by
Monet on a day when
he cared nothing
for water lillies, but now
a jungle of Gauguin.

We wait for the return
of the flocks as the sun
makes its retreat
and imagine again
a blazing sky over Arles.

May 6, 2022

GOOD DAY (GOODNIGHT)

Every morning we are able, we go out
on the lanai and have our fruit bowls
then our cappuccinos with toast
from her homemade sourdough
whole wheat bread, and watch
countless birds fly out
of the wetland that abuts our yard.
The cat is always awaiting
our arrival, usually sleeping
on one of our oak rockers.
She will look up at us, yawn
and when we nod, amble over
to her “cat condo” where she knows
her morning treats will appear.
She will announce her thanks
and slide back to the rocker
for her morning nap, knowing
she can watch the birds
arrive later when she
is far more rested for she
reminds us that cats are nocturnal.

December 5, 2021

AN AVIAN MESSAGE

The birds departed one morning

which we believe may be how

they express displeasure, although

the destruction of the nests

and the death of the children

by predators may have had

something to do with the departure.

We wait patiently for their return,

the wetland still dry, but we hope

with the wet season that what

is now mud will again drop slowly

beneath the surface, the new 

growth will drown, and the birds

will sense a return to status quo

but that assumes that birds are

unlike humans, unbegrudging

and willing to forgive us our sins.

October 5, 2021

ABSOLUTION

The birds in the wetland
speak to me in my dreams,
telling tales of what this place
was before we arrived
and forever changed it.

They don’t curse us, although
they remind us we are cursed
by our own actions, but
they do pity us, ground bound
living in our own waste.

In the morning the birds
have disappeared, a few
vultures carrying off the bodies
left by the bobcats whose
territory we have made our own.

At night I say a prayer
for the departed birds, and in
my dreams they come again,
and reject my prayer as hollow
and seeking only absolution.

July 31, 2021

RETAINER

I had a meeting this morning
with a number of the birds
that inhabit our wetland.

The said they wanted to retain
my services, although how
they discovered I was a lawyer
is wholly beyond me as I
retired several years ago.

They asked me to draft
a cease and desist letter
to all Americans, demanding
that we stop tweeting, or
more to the point, that we
call our inane and sometimes
violent messages something
other than a tweet for that
is the sweet trill of their
songbird cousins and we
are besmirching nature
with each new posting.

June 12, 2021

MONOLOGUE


I would like nothing more than
to have a long conversation with the birds,
that there is much they could tell me,
much they know that I should understand
but I am the interloper here, and they
have lost trust in my kind.

I watch them closely, trying 
to discern what I can of their thoughts,
but in a flash of wing, they erase
my efforts, their unique version
of giving me the bird, so to speak.

I speak to them, offer apologies,
atone for my presence, for the others
who have taken their space,
and they listen, but in the end,
turn away again, having, they say,
heard this too many times before.