Tempest

The abundance of trees and lakes here in the Cities provides habitat for a wide diversity of birds. I watch herons fly between ponds and wooded areas on a daily basis, listen to any number of warblers early mornings, and, just yesterday, stood beneath an osprey gliding on thermals high above the street.

When I wrote this poem I was keeping track of a blue heron nesting on our lake in Wisconsin, but the sentiment applies equally well here.



Tempest


Where does the heron hide
when rain slashes the lake
and lightening fissures the sky?

Does she dash inside, secure
the windows, check the door, fiddle
with a flashlight, watch it pour?

And when the wind rakes the woods,
sends pine needles flying,
does her heart beat hard like mine
when hailstones strike?

Or does she shelter in a thicket,
feathers tucked tight, unperturbed
by sheets of rain and the pounding
roar of its refrain?



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor