machans beach
a black faced woodswallow
quietly guards its nest
outside the local post office
this most social of spaces
cattana wetlands at dawn
dante meets her first jabiru
in a small muddy waterhole
his enormous yet graceful form
providing such delight
when startled - taking flight
young eyes as wide as his wing span
the papuan frogmouths
have returned to their wet season roost
their arrival causing a flurry amongst the indian mynas
who banding together
tried to discourage them - and failed
much to our joy
evenings now spent listening
to wings cutting through darkness
as the frogmouths snare
some unsuspecting all-too-content prey...
dante babadog and I
at mission bay
a lazy day
in shade and on sand
across the water
two jabiru
glide into view
and together we bask
in the light breeze and balmy sun
dugong
mission bay
spotted by stylus
as we walked at dawn
still alive when we saw him
but his battle scars and beaching
left us thinking
his time was short
I had always hoped to see a dugong
but this moment filled with awe tinged heartache
such a gentle creature suffering
from injuries I suspect humans have caused...
mission bay
spotted by stylus
as we walked at dawn
still alive when we saw him
but his battle scars and beaching
left us thinking
his time was short
I had always hoped to see a dugong
but this moment filled with awe tinged heartache
such a gentle creature suffering
from injuries I suspect humans have caused...
such beauty
and sadness
thinking of the new zealand oil spill
& a poem by Mary Oliver
...
Lead
[Mary Oliver]
[Mary Oliver]
Here is a story
to break your heart.
Are you willing?
This winter
the loons came to our harbor
and died, one by one,
of nothing we could see.
A friend told me
of one on the shore
that lifted its head and opened
the elegant beak and cried out
in the long, sweet savoring of its life
which, if you have heard it,
you know is a sacred thing,
and for which, if you have not heard it,
you had better hurry to where
they still sing.
And, believe me, tell no one
just where that is.
The next morning
this loon, speckled
and iridescent and with a plan
to fly home
to some hidden lake,
was dead on the shore.
I tell you this
to break your heart,
by which I mean only
that it break open and never close again
to the rest of the world.
