The Hawk Portico 6:00pm
In the stillness of this evening
I have a call for The Hawk:
The Plaintive Cooing of The Mourning Dove
sounding clean & close above the others
so still am I in My Chair
I hear not even surf
but the buzz of a fly
& the sucking surge of The Grackle
The Hawk Deck 12:40pm
I have been called to write
by the high urgency
of The Willet
here in My Sanctuary
The Call of The Wild
alerts Me to The Strife
of Humanity
I know exists
but from which
I am graciously
exiled
The Hawk Living Room 7:30pm
I ate My Potato Salad
& drank a beer
here by the open Living Room Window
at the edge of The Tomato-coloured Couch
but that was at the edge of The Galaxy
where stars burst & die
I would lie My Head on a blanket
& listen to the aftershocks
wafting through
on the surge
of ocean mist
& bird call
The Hawk Queen Bed 8:57pm
Yesterday on The Trail
in Barrington Bay
I heard The Willets
The Sound of Childhood
in Jordan Bay
My Grandfather wrote
about The Willet’s song
in Anchorage Northeast:
“My own ear has seldom caught “Willet”
in the famous and far-piercing call.
To me it is pilly-will-wee,
with the accent on the last syllable,
or pill-wee-wee, with the accent
on the second,
in either case repeated over and over
and virtually always in flight.
It is a high, hurrying, questioning cry,
urgent of something I can only imagine,
a glad sound on the bird’s coursings of the shore,
a call of fulfillment(sic)
and the June-morning glory
of being alive and a-wing.”
Howard Talbot Walden 2nd
Anchorage Northeast p.189
To Sing The Song of The Hummingbird
I write to say I Saw One Today
buzzing in Our bedraggled Apple
& finding Nothing There
buzzed away beyond The House —
I may never see Its Greenness again
What would Its sight portend?
–
I drove with Eliza
& Her First Serious Boyfriend Tyler
to La Creamy Treat in Pubnico
on The Highway Home
Two Flying Objects hit the wind shield
Eliza, driving, pronounced “I killed
Two Hummingbirds with One Car –”
Tyler, from The Back Seat
resolutely announced “I saved
A Hummingbird caught in a Spider Web”
What wonder in a flock of tweeting
twittering Birds overhead —
I heard Them coming before I saw Them —
They began to break up above Me
as I eagerly watched to see Them form Letters
of The Alphabet —
Letters maybe to divine a message
but how could I expect Those Birds —
that Body of Bird Life —
to know My Language?
These Are The Neighbourhood Sounds
Which Drive Me Off My Deck:
Lawnmowers
Weed Eaters
Auto Body Grinders
Skill Saws
Chain Saws
Various Hammerings
Is That Enough?
–
These Are The Sounds That Keep Me:
The Waves
The Surf
The Fog Horns
The Peepers
The Wind in The Leafy Hedge
The Birds — Jays, Crows, Gulls, Willets,
Mourning Doves, Robins, Grackles, Starlings, Warblers, Chickadees
Isn’t That Enough?
–
What do The Gulls think
when They eat a food They’ve never had —
like Spanish Rice and Sausage —
What do The Crows think?
“I Heard A Bird Fly,”
declared an astonished visitor
to My Mother’s Island House
when I was eleven years old.
–
July 23rd 2012
I Live In The Land of Spirituality–
if I lie in My Bed
on the verge of depression
I am in Error
for I am eternally, rightfully happy
on My Deck or Portico
with Hunter and Eliza and The Cats
and The Birds.
The Jays of Valley Cottage
mix with The Crows of Nova Scotia
I could hear Them
before writing
but now that My Book is out
open on My Lap
I hear the swooshing of The Hedge
& guess The Next Bird To Be–
–I have no guess–
–I’m waiting to hear–
a car pulls into a driveway
a neighbour tinkers in His Shed
so I move to The South of The House
–to The Portico–
where Those Waves are a woosh
with Gulls more audible
& now too, a Jay
How incongruous that I should hear
The Jays of Valley Cottage
Here on Cape Sable Island
where I am so far removed
from My Growing Up–
or aren’t I still growing?
Here I feel I Have Arrived–
My Destiny has been laid out
on My Grandmother’s Silver Tray
on display atop
My Mother’s Mahogany Drop-leaf Table
Here in My Hawk Living Room
Joanna Gilman Hyde 