Immature osprey
Learning how to fly
Lands in a treetop
There
Startled by the arrival
Of human presence on
Strange red barges
In the middle of her
Watery meal-place
Mom and dad shift into
Action
Encouraging the young
Osprey to fly
And the human strangers
To leave
Soon enough
The downstream tug
Drags that red craft onward
Enlivened by the excitement
She flies again to the
Safety
Of their nest
Copyright © 2012 by muz4now, Inc.
All Rights Reserved. 190/1,000
2 Responses to Poem 0190: Fly
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about.me
stan stewart
muse and music for the present moment
I look for ways to re-invigorate our human experience of life. I want us to drink up every moment with enlivening spontaneity. One of the ways I do this is with improvisation -- especially improvised music. With voice, guitar, percussion, piano (keyboards) and friends, I develop "in the moment" creations. I also play classical and pop music for the vast joy it brings to know the composers and songwriters of the past and present through their music.
I once heard that, as a river guide, it is bad luck to look an osprey in the eye. Bad things will happen, boats will flip, guests will swim, oars will snap and ice will melt.
I don’t believe it. I’m starting a new guide tradition: Osprey are our guardians along with the river otters and great blue herons. They watch us, daring and playing with the river. They do it better, but they still look after us.
Great poem, makes me miss the river even more!
Makes me miss the river, too, Lenore! And you, my favorite river guide. (Don’t tell the others…)
Bless you