Morning

Twelve cockatoos fly swearing and shouting at each other
In the warm air – dropping and weaving,
Lifting and rolling through the sky,
Making the waves washing over me –
Waves of sound, of movement, of being alive.

Then, along the path in the early morning
A snake necked cormorant standing with
Wide wings spread to the sun
Head high, eyes open,
Ageless life, manifest,
In unbounded variety.

Two moorhens, each with a chick,
Small, fragile living fluff moving
Rippling their tiny presence
On the water, in the air,
Through everything.

Further, a pelican, still, waiting,
Watching for movement
Within the lake with patient alertness,
As you or I might watch for opportunity,
Might reach and touch and see each other.

Copyright ©2001 Tony Crisp