We debate what kind. Trumpeter or Tundra? Juvenile? Why alone here with the mergansers and mallards? We notice the shape of the beak. The nudge of orange. The grey rolling down the narrow neck and onto her back. Like dirty snow. Or clouded sky. The wonderous wings unfurl and spread every now and again. I…
Tag: poetry
Drift
Summer and the day drifts and shifts away. Like clouds. Shape of a rooster or whale. Shaded patterns along grasses. Branches that bend against sky. Or leaves. Dappled. There are shouts of a man and the bark of a dog. Voice of an owl calling, in an evening, as the day slips, as you study…
God is Here
When I last travelled the desert, I passed this one empty house. It was along a flat stretch of highway. A straight away nearly twelve miles long. Springtime was busting out – the desert filling with promise. Green spotted the hills and I could see dots of little yellow flowers. And rain. Rain was loving…
