Kind of busy, kind of wet here, ladies and gentlemen. A couple of weeks ago I visited one of Canberra’s wetlands, which is pretty much everywhere here these days. I’d been told that there were plenty of brown snakes in that area and to watch my step, a bit hard to do when there are so many other things to look at. Anyway, I went into one of the bird hides and all of sudden there was this almighty racket outside. I raced outside expecting to see a snake snacking on a nest of baby birds.
But I neither saw or heard anything unusual. How strange. So I went back into the bird hide and all hell broke loose. There were swallows squawking and flying up to my face. It was then that I realised that I was the snake.
They gave me the evil eye.
And plotted their next move under cover of darkness.
Great gobs agape.
Until I slithered silently away.
Gruesome. Not a creature stirred on this wet and windy Halloween night.
I felt anxious and grey during June, perhaps mirroring the inclement winter weather and the times, but here I am, on the eve of July. Soon the wattle will be blooming gold and the landscape will extrude from its current camo coat of green and brown.
I barely managed to pick up the camera but spurred on by my supporters, the crested pigeons, I began. Fluffed up, a crested pigeon warms up in a pocket of sun.
Bird poetry – a pandemic distraction. Semi-infrequent opportunity to join in. Try it. Create a pingback to this post with your bird poem. Really awful poetry welcome. Good poetry welcome too.
As a bird lover, I feel slightly intimidated about venturing into bird poetry, particularly poems about gulls. This topic has already been covered by many famous poets over the centuries so I am unlikely to contribute any words that haven’t been written before. The inspiration for this short poem therefore comes not from those wonderful poets, but from the seagulls themselves and from my camera. That is as it should be.