Archive 07/01/09 - (2)

   

Early-Evening Feeding

                                                                  

After yesterday's cold rain had tapered off,

Ominous gray clouds dissipating,

Subliming back into a silvery-white lake and sky,

And night's silence had begun warming slightly,

I stepped out onto the porch, off my cabin's kitchen,

Took the steps, to the lower level,

And set about stoking the Weber kettle, with charcoal.

 

Whenever I spend time here, I revel in this rite,

As though I'm preparing to make sacrifices to the gods,

Propitiations necessarily humbling.

Last evening, my offering was a sirloin steak,

Cooked, slowly, over evenly-red-glowing coals,

And two robust sweet potatoes,

Baking, in aluminum foil, on the edges of the grill.

 

And during the entire hour it took me to prepare dinner,

I was visited by a quartet of common loons:

Two mates, decorated with green heads, black bills,

Cross-banded backs, and white breasts,

Shepherding their pair of brown-hued chicks —

Exquisite wild creatures forming a nuclear family,

Unperturbed by my proximity.

 

After all, they were preoccupied with feeding,

Too focused on keeping to survival's routine,

To pay me other than cursory heed; I wasn't a predator.

Indeed, they stayed close into shore, in the weed beds,

Both adults sliding under the quiverless surface, repeatedly,

To gather fish, crustaceans, plants they'd eat

Or slip into their cooing babies' open mouths.

 

By the time my food was cooked and I'd gone upstairs,

I'd witnessed those nurturing loons

Dutifully complete their foraging,

Seen them glide away, contentedly, into the warm silence,

Those chicks riding high atop their parents' backs.

And I knew that the gods had richly rewarded me,

With one of nature's more glorious gifts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                               

 

07/01/09 - (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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