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34 Arriving at tranquil water, I peer at inch-long fishes, then turn left; in a grotto of bushes over the shallows a great blue heron is poised on a branch. There's down in the beak-- must have been preening. The majestic bird eyes me as I sidle even closer. When it finally takes flight, I walk to a grassy knoll and write with dragonflies all around me. Returning to the patch of sand and grass next to the heron grotto, I hear a splash to my right. Rising from deeper water is a bird with its prize. My eyes follow the flight to a tall palm across the bayou. Thank heavens I have binoculars. A belted kingfisher! Male or female? A male-- only a grayish blue band. A royal palm? It is now. After a while the crowned wonder leads my opera glasses over the water, then hovers. My heart soars in aria. The kingfisher spots no fish and ascends to a wire, a stage free of props. The crest is so clear. Flying to a distant shore, the halcyon makes an exit grand as myth. |
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Issue #33, June, 2003 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.