Grebes
We’d walked up to this place
along the water, when an independent motion just
detectable across the rippled acre drew
our pleased attention.
First one, then two small, hardy forms there on
the surface--oops!--then under, passing minutes, long
and busy, wet, that they shared only with each
other and their little prey.
Neither can we know when they arrived
here on their southward flight, nor can we know how
long they’ll stay. But we can sense this from them: their economy
is measured in the speeds of winds, dark flickers under waves,
thick-vegetated shores, and sudden broad wing
shadows in the sky.
Now far from us, now closer to our shore. Now
paddling against the breeze, now blown along. Now
near each other, now apart. And always,
always free.
And we two, clothed and shod and munching
on our sandwiches, keep watching them and hoping
they’ll come near. From whence the wish to offer bread these
spacious souls would certainly eschew? They’ve come
in peace, and peace in kind is all
they need from us.
The hour had passed, we’d turned to head back down
the trail. Now telling me her thoughts, now silent, one hand
occupied by holding on her hat against the breeze, the other, warm,
in mine, I felt again the freedom of her love for me.
Jason Myers-Benner
October 5, 2009
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