From a High Dune on the Big Lake
A bald eagle is perched on the dead stalk of an old pine.
The sky beyond him is clouded and there is the sound of light rain in the
treetops.
It turned and looked as I came into the clearing at the top of the dune —
The dark folds of its wings caught in the misty light.
It crouched and lunged from the tree,
Then circled out from the foredune slope
And over the big lake. Before it left I said:
“Wait, no no no no” aloud to myself,
As if willing it to stay. But I was soon standing there alone
With only the memory and the old pine
Lurching to-and-fro with the sudden release
Of the great bird’s weight.
To drink, prey must cross the barren, wind swept beaches below.
From here, the eagle can keep watch on them for miles —
Which is to say nothing of the bounty of fish to be hunted
In the baffling expanse of fresh water stretching out beyond the horizon
On this very calm October day.
I will return more quietly in the future, and
I will do my best not to speak to the eagle if I see it again.
