Friday, July 10, 2009
Crouching here, I can almost sense her watching,
still, from beyond the thick cover of grasses in this shallow arm of water, her babies scattered to every edge, buried in the dense, tangle of green.
A Wood Duck, so very shy of my approach that, even from yards away, she takes to the air—as she sounds the alarm, and disappears into the safety of the woods.
If I could wait, hidden, for her return,
she would be so lovely—
her crested head and white eye patch, the only marks setting her apart from the dark browns and deep greens of this little farm pond.
So, I creep a little closer,
settle a bit lower to the ground,
and bury myself in the translucent green stems of jewelweed drinking from around the rim. Tender leaves glistening with small beads of rain, their pendulous flowers of brilliant orange and red, hanging from just a thread.
Oh, now I’ve done it!
This nest of sleeping spiderlings, awoken—
they run in every direction, screaming,