As I pulled a leaf from the bay tree, a blackbird,
I imagine the one, who waits by the patio door at dawn,
flew out, calling louder than a car alarm on an empty street.
It’s been that kind of day – only a few hours before
I saw the kingfisher I’d been trying to see for years,
and then two cormorants flew over, a matching pair,
reflecting each other in the mercurial river where
a dipper fluttered and a little grebe dunked below.
I’d have sent you a picture but the light was too good,
each feather, the dazzle, the fright of a waking bird
refuse capture, though they liberate in my memory’s recall.
Hazel Buchan Cameron