A prose collection of a story about a fishing bird....
When skies have a brilliance unbroken,
there always seems to be a seer among
birds so very high above all others,
and their loft unspoken is only broken
by screams of the raptors that be.
But know that a bird of royal lineage
is much more down-to-earth and
it's haunt is by the sides of a long lake.
Or a cascading creek.
Or say a mountain pond peopled
with the fish of freshwaters...
It's unerring eye spies a wealth of choices,
bound either to the watery depths or perhaps
the languid, liquid shallows that pass so
carressingly past where it perches.
Minnows many provide sustenance,
as do the common crawdad along
many a stream.
The kingfisher's calling on the river of my youth
was always that alarmed "CHACK!" upon being
discovered as I and the canoe floated past.
I dreamed that I, kingfisher and the waterways
of our days now have become one 'neath
the brightest, most brilliant Sun....