Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Dreaming of Potholes

Lemon sun kisses pale grassheads
awash in the ever-present wind
and the tinkle-buzz song of the longspur
like a tiny western meadowlark
makes me stop to look.
There he perches, lord of all he surveys
singing not for our ears
but for all his nestlings yet to come.

I am dreaming of potholes,
glacial leavings and tepee circles of stones;
of willets cursing my every step,
of ducks floating and dabbling
on every piece of earth-bound sky.

And I want to hear that longspur,
chestnut-collar compressed by his fervor,
sing that bit of prairie bebop
his head tilted back as if to let the wind
take away these notes he no longer needs.

But I need them.

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At 9:57 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

This is lovely, Bill.
Perfectly captures the feeling of being alone on the Great Plains.
--Becca in NYC

At 2:47 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Great Blog with superb images

I also have a birding blog


Great if we could swap links




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