Frozen Waterfall

Frozen waterfall,

how appropriate to see

on a lonely day.

Your grand beauty chills

even the softest of hearts

when they stand by you.

Frozen Taughannock Falls - person in lower right for  scale.

Squirrel Poem

Scolding

Holding

Boldly raiding

Plotting

Waiting

Ambuscading

Highly climbing

And descending

Digging 

Hiding

And forgetting.

-Felice Holman

Horsetooth Mountain poem

At the horizon

Where rock tooth touches the sky

Birds sing all day long

Anhinga Haiku

Anhinga sitting,

I rather see you swimming.

Snakebird diving down.

Killdeer Poetry

We have a nice population of Killdeer residing at Green Cay this year. I digiscoped a few photos recently and wanted to share them. I also included some Killdeer inspired poetry from two famous poets.

Where the Sabbath of that place kept itself in waiting,the herons of the night stood in their morning watch,and the herons of the day in silence stoodby the living water in its strait. The coots and gallinulesskulked in the reeds, the mother mallards and their little onesafloat on the seaward-sliding water to no purpose I had foreseen.The stilts were feeding in the shallows, and the killdeertreading with light feet the mud that was all ashinewith the coming day. Volleys of swallows leaptin joyous flight out of the dark into the brightening airin eternal gratitude for life before time not foreseen,and the song of the song sparrow rang in its bush.

- From Sabbaths by Wendell Berry

Over the stagnant bight
we see the hungry bank swallow
flaunting his free flight
still; we sink in mud to follow
the killdeer from the grass
that hides her nest. That March there was
rain; the rivers rose; you could hear killdeers flying
all night over the mudflats crying.

-from Heart's Needle by W.D. Snodgrass

Catbird

Photos taken by Bill Kominsky at Green Cay, used with permission.

My favorite poetry to read lately has been the work of Mary Oliver. I can't get enough of her work. I can read pieces like Wild Geese over and over again. Actually I do, since I have a copy taped to my desk. These week though I'm think of the catbirds and how they will soon be leaving Green Cay for their northernly homes. This one is to you my favorite little gray skulkers.

Catbird
He picks his pond, and the soft thicket of his world.
He bids his lady come, and she does,
flirting with her tail.
He begins early, and makes up his song as he goes.
He does not enter a house at night, or when it rains.
He is not afraid of the wind, though he is cautious.
He watches the snake, that stripe of black fire,
until it flows away.
He watches the hawk with her sharpest shins, aloft
in the high tree.
He keeps his prayer under his tongue.
In his whole life he has never missed the rising of the sun.
He dislikes snow.
But a few raisins give him the greatest delight.
He sits in the forelock of the lilac, or he struts
in its shadow.
He is neither the rare plover or the brilliant bunting,
but as common as the grass.
His black cap gives him a jaunty look, for which
we humans have learned to tilt our caps, in envy.
When he is not singing, he is listening.
Neither have I ever seen him with his eyes closed.
Though he may be looking at nothing more than a cloud
it brings to his mind several dozen new remarks.
From one branch to another, or across the path,
he dazzles with flight.
Since I see him every morning, I have rewarded myself
the pleasure of thinking that he knows me.
Yet never once has he answered my nod.
He seems, in fact, to find in me a kind of humor,
I am so vast, uncertain and strange.
I am the one who comes and goes,
and who knows why.
Will I ever understand him?
Certainly he will never understand me, or the world
I come from.
For he will never sing for the kingdom of dollars.
For he will never grow pockets in his gray wings.

Blue-gray Friday

Heard before seen

Small blue-gray

White eye-ring

An insect cop

Flicking tail

Erractic hops

White belly, small

In a flock

Listen for the call

All photos used with permission by Bill Kominsky. Photos taken at Green Cay.

Such Singing in the Wild Branches

I've been on haitus for a little while. Friends came into town, birding was done, and now I'm back with pictures to come. For today, I'll leave you with this poem by one of my favorite poets Mary Oliver:


Such Singing in the Wild Branches

It was spring
and finally I heard him
among the first leaves -
then I saw him clutching the limb
in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still
and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness -
and that's when it happened,
when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree -
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,
and the sands in the glass
stopped
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward
like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing -
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed
not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfectly blue sky - all, all of them
were singing.
And, of course, yes, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last
for more than a few moments.
It's one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.One of the things they say about
it, that is true,
is that, once you've been there,
you're there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?
Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then - open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.

Rainbow Birds

Rainbow Birds
A Poem by Joseph Kozlowski

Red: Red-"tinged" Blackbird sippin’ near the well,
Scarlet Tanager who’s not The Pimpernel,
Red-breasted Nuthatches, a downward batch,
And fidgety Mr. Cardinal with his red thatch.

Orange: Black-headed Grosbeak’s good for hobnobbin’,
Then I’m bobbin’ with the orange red Robin,
Baltimore Oriole’s out for a spin,
Know the name of his Northern twin?

Green: The Green-winged Teal with speculum flashing green,
Glossy Ibis who likes to preen,
Mrs. Western Tanager, nicknamed Olive and somewhat restive,
With friend Mr. Mallard and his head that’s festive.

Blue: Beautiful Eastern Bluebird floats o’er a bay,
While good old Blue Jay’s raucous some say,
Mountain Bluebird’s graceful I’ve heard,
And Indigo Bunting is an awesome bird.

Yellow: Yellow-breasted Chats, which actually croak,
Black-headed Grosbeak is quite the bloke,
Cousin Evening Grosbeak has moved to the east,
But the "wild canary" is not a beast.

Purple: Poor Purple Martin’s more a steely blue,
But let’s not forget the Purple Gallinule.