Past, Present, and Poetry

Above the Bighorn Basin I saw eight white birds tooling in the air columns. 

                               (wiki photo)

Binoculars showed long orange beaks and black-tipped wings:  White pelicans, my favorite bird…or even animal, too…so prehistoric, so awkward on land but effortlessly gliding just above rising waves…reminding me of speed skating’s glide over the ice.

Their high dance brought to mind Walt Whitman’s spectacular poem:

Dalliance of the Eagles

        Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,)

        Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles,

        The rushing amorous contact high in space together,

        The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel,

        Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling,

        In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling,

        Till o’er the river pois’d, the twain yet one, a moment’s lull,

        A motionless still balance in the air, then parting, talons loosing,

        Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate diverse flight,

        She hers, he his, pursuing.

And this led to a fine memory:  Edmond and I were picnicking at Fenton Lake, high above Jemez Springs.  A hawk alighted on a branch right above us with a fish in its talons.  She leisurely picked her way through her lunch, ending up with talons sticky with fish guts.  So she swooped over the lake dipping her talons briefly in the water….then again, moistening the mess.  Finally she took a long run, dragging her talons half way across the lake, flushing off the yuck.  A neat trick and a treat for us to witness.