Tipping Point

Back from the cabin up north where spring seems to come in fits and starts. At least the ice is out of the lake, leaving behind cold but clear water.

It's a different story for the ponds not far from my home here in the city. Last year seemed to be a tipping point, and egrets no longer tarry in these once pristine pools.



Tipping Point


Run-off herbicides and salt-winter streets.

Neighborhood ponds dull as dun,
no duck pairs nesting,
maybe two turtles sunbathing.

An egret, fresh from a long flight back,
steps into the tannin, dazed as a homeowner

scanning the muck fouling his house.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor