a dozen of us with cameras and binoculars
and climbed up the rusty bridge
cold in December, two lanes of cracked asphalt
that scraped our shoes
and echoed in the silence below us.


By dusk we could make out their graceful forms
gliding from a streak of pink,
feathers catching golden sparkles
through maple branches,
the air still, each bird eye clear.


As they landed on the water,
the river shimmered like a mirror.
A ripple of warmth
spread from the surface
a hint of spring,
and the horizon widened
its earthly wonder.


Their beaks, like trumpets of a royal court,
announced their arrival to the world
to cheers and gentle clapping,
the soft coo of a baby smiling.
In an hour they had settled down
in their temporary home.


Before we left our spot,
wind stirring in the night,
we vowed to come back soon
for the next glorious sight.
Moonlight shone on rooftops


and revealed on the bridge rail
a fluffy, curved feather
about the length of a pencil,
soft as silk
in the chill of the evening.

#Nature

© Sage Rage