bird blog is one day late. I had the great fortune to present a mystery-writing program at the San Juan Island on Saturday evening. My dear friends Mary and John
put me up, or maybe I should say put up with me, whenever I visit the island. They
own a lovely place on Dream Lake, and I have their guesthouse all to myself.
Talk about a writer’s paradise; there’s no TV or cell service and their
Internet connection doesn’t seem to like my MacBook. So, although my Sunday
bird blog was ready to go, I was unable to post until this morning.
On a farm road outside of town
a small stand of trees grows near
a house surrounded by plowed fields
where mice dart and nibble on old corn.
On any day in January a family of eagles,
maybe the same family, or maybe passersby,
perch on the branches like debris left
on stairs leading up to a messy room.
Along side the road, cars pull over
and tripods set up behind cattail blinds
as if the birds weren’t aware of the
shutters clicking in the breeze.
Then flying in from the field, dangling
a rodent in its talons, is the one locals
call Big Bertha and in a moment she is gone,
to enjoy her meal in peace.