Canberra (Australia) – I’m so cold, oh so cold!
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 – Little Eagle (Hieraaetus morphnoides)
The Little Eagle is a small eagle about the size of a peregrine falcon. It has a wingspan of about 100cm. It is listed as vulnerable in the Australian Capital Territory and New South Wales.
We saw this one soaring over the Australian National Botanic Gardens in late winter. My True Love and I managed to find a break in the trees to capture this photo (cropped within an inch of its life).
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.
Bird poetry – a pandemic distraction. Try it. Create a pingback to this post for the bird of your choice. Really awful poetry welcome. Good poetry welcome too.
Golden Whistler photos taken by my True Love.
Shadow dancer rimmed in gold.
Flamboyant, rakish, debonair.
As he skips from tree to tree,
eats a snack for energy.