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Sunday, November 17, 2013

Lesser Shorebirds (with Tania P)

Perhaps my love for the namers rivals my love for you: be you godwit, whimbrel, or dowitcher, your tan vault of a self ends in a v and nothing interrupts the fuchsia stem of your bill, tipped black, from its ravaged drilling and suckling for what the retreating waves stir loose below sand's horizon. I want to sift, like you, amid the dark stars of heaven for what god made just for me.

Maybe as a line of pelicans flows low across the water, only a wingbeat from the waves, I set out walking along the shoreline to follow. As always, each creative work of nature, like a child, hopes to be chosen as ear and eye compete. I look to the left, listen to the right; my attention sliding between drifting blankets of birds and the fluttering heartbeat of the sea.

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