Posted in Nature Photography, Nature Poetry, Wildlife Photography

A Heron in the Fog

The deep white fog rolled into the bay like a tidal wave,
Covering it in a deep sacred shroud of white,
Then the clouds opened, and the rain fell as if it was poured from some heavenly sea,
In the distance, a Great Blue Heron calls out.

He stalks his prey through the fog,
As he moves, raindrops slide down his smooth long gray feathers,
And the deep mud of the bay pulls down his feet with every step.

His movements are like that of the ocean, slow and steady,
Only to be followed by something powerful and unstoppable,
He strikes a violent stab at the ground,
Then disappears fish scales gleaming from his beak into the fog.

Posted in Nature Photography, Nature Poetry, Wildlife Photography

A Nuthatch at Sunrise

He sits quietly watching,
Breathing in the silence like the morning breeze,
His eyes dart from point to point,

The moment comes, and he breaks,
Like a small white and gray bullet, he takes the sky,
Landing on the feeder’s edge to take a seed.

Then he pauses for a beat,
Basking in the newborn light,
Perhaps feeling life in all its complex beauty,
Before swiftly disappearing into the morning mist.

Posted in Nature Poetry, Wildlife Photography

What Must Birds Think of Us?

What must birds think of us?
Rushing from one place to the next,
Always in a hurry,
Never once basking in the sun.

What must birds think of us?
So careless,
Yet so precise,
Hardly considered what other creatures need.

What must birds think of us?
Some feeding them,
Some loving them,
But all never genuinely understanding them.

What must birds think of us?
When we destroy their forest homes,
Only to build houses,
And plant new trees.

What must birds think of us?
How wonderful,
How dangerous,
How odd must we seem?

Posted in Nature Poetry, Wildlife Photography

An Osprey at Sunset

Atop the cliff he stands,
Sharp eyes piercing the waves,
Like a spark, he takes to the sky.

Plummeting toward the sea graceful and precise,
He plunges in talons first,
Grasping the helpless fluke in his icy clutches.

Then just as swiftly as he struck,
He flys toward the horizon,
As the Maine sun slowly sets into night.