In Mallard’s wake woe –
with clipped wings, I watch and yearn
for Winter sojourn.
(For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day, and RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge: wake/wail)
Category: photography
Autumnal Joy
Fields glisten –
golden satisfaction –
eagle soars above
Sun on river gleams
a glorious farewell
my heart joins eagle.
(Image from personal collection.)
Cormorant
Feathers fanned pronounce
prowess of river raven –
deep diver, swift flight.
(For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day. Â Image from personal collection.)
Losing Touch
Sure-footed
she navigates
forest floor
leaps over
obstacles,
scales inclines
knows each
nook and cranny
every sound
a greeting
but seasons pass
and time erodes
landscapes
and senses
lose sharpness
the nuances
of the woods
fading  memory
the wind’s whispers
elusive signals
inner nymph silenced.
(For Ragtag Community’s Daily Prompt: elusive. Â Image from personal collection.)
Surprise Visit
The river holds so many surprises
least of which is the sudden appearance
at water’s edge of a tall white egret –
a countenance I acquaint with Texas
and warmer climes – what wonder
to find this greatness at my backdoor.
(The Great Egret is common in coastal areas, but not a bird I have encountered in Ontario, until now. Â Linking up with Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day.)
Do Explore!
Through thickening brush
light whispers, beckons – forest
ripe with mystery.
(For RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge: forest /whisper. Â Image from personal collection.)
Northern Flicker
My forward movement
startles us both –
you ground foraging
with the robins,
me delighted
by a flash of red –
heart at your nape.
You rise, alight
on tree branch
your squeaky call,
warning or greeting
stops me in my track –
patiently I wait
as you circle the tree
head bobbing, alert,
till we both settle
and my lens succeeds.
(For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day. Â Image from personal collection.)
Displaced in Patriarchy
Long since
dawn’s early
observation,
have witnessed
patriarchy’s
inequalities
first hand
second hand
lack a solution,
short of vengeance –
perpetrate rather
than end the cycle
of crime –
no place
to call home.
(Image from personal collection.)
Night Travels
Night lifts,
morning slipping
through blinds,
soul returning
from nightly foray,
body awakening,
a vague sense
of disconnection –
admit it,
you know this.
Great Blue Heron
Blending in
the gift of stealth
only your voice –
woodsy reed  –
alerts me to your presence.
You are grey sky
and rushing waters
tall reeds and
wind-swept banks
And when my heart
beats off tempo
given to spells
of malaise
you are metronome
reseting my rhythm.
(Friday I join in with Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day. Photo from personal collection.)