“Where’s the ridge you’re talking about?
Is it below where that bird is flying?”
and my world turns right side up,
for he seems to have spotted the birds I’ve sought
so many times here over the years,
I excitedly point with finger and words,
more and more sightings around the knife-edged ridge,
above it flaps and perching,
and we suddenly notice high-pitched calls, almost squabbling,
I use my long lensed camera to reach out,
to understand,
to record,
to save for later,
I joy that the peregrine falcon seem to be back before me,
these unsurpassed hunters of the sky,
they who our chemicals drove away
and the actions of our apology invite back.
I am beside myself
as I reach to soar with them,
we humans truly soar best
when we feel as one with the rest of nature.
by Henry H. Walker,
May 25, ’11
No comments:
Post a Comment