Thursday, April 7, 2016




April 7, 2016 Indian Cove

Lots of little lime green caterpillars these days
inching their way up nearly invisible threads
twisting themselves back and forth higher and higher
climbing the equivalent of hundreds of stories.

Two swimming duck parents
lead five or six unfledged ducklings
to a small newly forming marsh island
teaching sheltering each day.

Sun is about to drop behind
the tall bluff across the cove.
The cove the heart and center
of mostly unseen life.

Duck family now moves along the opposite bank
then dashes exposed to the far side of the cove
ducklings in tow then darting here and there
all heading up the creek for dusk and seclusion.

Fish jump at water striders skipping along.
A few bats and small swept-winged birds
swoop after tiny flying specks of consciousness.
Merrily merrily merrily it's almost night's turn to dream.

Ah the first bullfrog herald
four or five warm-up tuning croaks
gets the jump on the competition
as sun becomes a backlit glow.

A slight chill breeze arrives exactly now
catching songbird attention and initiating conversations
among the canopy and from tree to tree
the conversants sometimes gliding to share a branch.

Kingfisher is first heard then seen
standing on the very tip of a thin bare branch
stretching outward low above the twilight cove
listening for commonality and direction

She pauses before launching laterally
and muscularly into the accepting air
on her acrobatic staccato twittering way
to her next standing appointment.

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