Bird watching - small poems
I am a voyeur of birds in their bath
I eavesdrop on their tiny conversations
I listen to their songs while wandering along
And ponder a possible translation.
Without fail, the quail come running
In quick succession, rolling along,
their tiny feet like spinning wheels,
with their distinctive song.
With wing strokes like the thrust of oars,
a great blue heron rows his boat
through the evening air
to quiet waters, distant shores.
How the swans bow their heads
and fold their wings, while floating,
in seeming genuflection
to their rippling reflection…
Sign languages of the birds:
lLike the runes left by sandpipers along the shore
embellished by seashells, sand dollars and more…
The way the crows curl their toes on take-off to fly,
their black hieroglyphics in sharp contrast
to the Seagulls, white-writing in the sky.