Archive
08/21/09 - (3)
Rap-Rap-Rapping
My walk through the abandoned campgrounds, This luminous afternoon, is necessarily slow and short (My legs are weary, sore, from this morning's hike); Nonetheless, it's eventful, scintillant, inspiring, For the shadowy silence dappling the trees with sun shafts.
Having passed by the desolate waterfront area, Now stacked, every which way, with docks, canoes, rowboats, I arrive in the Axeman Village, Drawn, hauntingly, to a drum-tap rap-rap-rapping Calling me to its source, as if with an urgent message.
Only, when I locate what turns out to be a pileated woodpecker, Tapping away, at a defenseless forty-foot maple, With its hammerlike red-crested head, powerful, sharply-pointed bill, Its long, muscular neck the tool's handle, All I can do is stand silent, mesmerized, looking directly up,
As I'm showered with the yellowish chunks and white chips It's causing to drift down, around me, in my hair, on my shirt. I'm not certain if this surprisingly large bird notices me or cares, For its being so invested in digging insects, from bark, hardwood, Ingesting them almost as fast as it can remove new layers.
For half an hour, until I grow dizzy, gazing skyward, I watch this master sculptor chisel away, at its wood block, If not creating an intricate piece of abstract art Or an approximation of a primal design, At least leaving behind its signature, to designate its handiwork. Even as I take to the spongy pine-needle paths, again, My footfalls diminishing into the accumulating distance, I can still hear that woodpecker disturbing the atmosphere, With its drum-tap rap-rap-rapping, and I'm a happy man, For having eavesdropped and spied on such dedication to work.
08/21/09 - (3)
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