Through

The sun is
a weary yellow
behind flat gray sky
this December noon
Not like autumn
when that brilliant kingfisher
first came to our park
bluer than sky
diving in the glassy pond
rising with his juicy sustenance
Today he wings from tree to tree
eyeing the cold little abyss
rattling his dry raspy chatter
Flies away hungry

They say there’s danger
for the halcyon
as it plummets
from such high places
Birdwatchers tell the story
of a kingfisher
that dove into a lake
broke its wing and slowly
bled into the water
its mate frantic and circling above

I rise from my bench
solitary and free
wander off the path
with memories of green
Some leaves and twigs crunch
over mud not quite frozen
Blotches of thin ice
coat dark puddles

Sundress and straw hat
packed away for summer
bundled in my down jacket
I persist
Hobbling with a cane
twenty-six winters now
The invisible beacon
faithfully leads me on
I dream of spring

kingfisher autumn

Top photo courtesy J.J. Harrison; bottom photo by Andrew Mckie

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17 thoughts on “Through

    • Thank you very much. I’m happy you noticed the regretful aspects of the poem. Being ‘through’ with something and passing ‘through’ it may feel ambivalent. Yet there’s comfort in the cycle of seasons…Intimations of Immortality.

  1. The bland and uninhabited winter freezes good wishes. Your poem is announcing that it is better to be in spring. A lovely way to evoke a season after seeing the ravages in the birds. Great your verses. I loved reading you. The photos are great. A good Sunday for you.

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