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06/26/10 - (2)
Not Five Weeks
For ten minutes before they scurried out of the lake, At the village's sole boat landing, Not a hundred yards west of my rental cabin, I could see them floating up, in a single-file convoy, From the boys'-camp waterfront array Of rafts, docks, tethered rowboats, canoes, sailboats, Eventually see it was the same crèche of Canada geese I watched feeding during my mid-May stay, When the three pairs of ganders and gooses Escorted their fifteen communal goslings On a foray down by the water lapping my shore, To forage for grasses, grains, and sprouts. Only, what were downy babies, not five weeks ago, Are now adolescents half their parents' size, identical in coloration, Yet still hewing to their innate pecking orders. It's amazing that they've held nature's predation at bay, Haven't had their ranks diminished By dogs, foxes, eagles, owls, hawks, weasels, raccoons. After grazing the boat-landing surrounds, thirty minutes, They wade into the lake, in a line twenty-one fowls long, And paddle past where I sun, on the dock. I wonder if they recognize me, as well, Know that I, also, have grown a month or so older, And are amazed that I, too, have survived time.
06/26/10 - (2)
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