Frozen lake day. Birds have tiptoed across the ice but mostly they stick together on land or in the corner of the lake where a natural spring keeps the water from freezing. It gets crowded in that small space with many more birds than usual pressed together. It would be like shooting ducks in a tub, so to speak.
When I look off through my hackberry tree on the left with binoculars, I can see another creature that agrees sitting silently in a tree on the opposite bank. A Bald Eagle prefers fish, but some of those ducks look plump and easy. See it?
I’m reminded of the eagle poem in my e-book GOOSE LAKE. Here’s the prose segment followed by the poem.
Last night snow wove a thin white sweater. Today is oyster gray. The sun through a peephole is a pale pearl lying cold in the shell. Gusts of starlings blur the air from limb to ground in search of unfrozen water.
An eagle dives from the sky, startling five crows from a hackberry tree. The swan seems not to notice. Geese and ducks continue their aimless drifting and smaller birds carry on with their business.
But all eyes acknowledge the white-headed king that misses nothing from its limb in the hackberry tree.
Streaks down the lake, turns,
swoops back, lands on high limb,
studies the water with baleful stare,
settles to wait, but soon,
bored, changes trees,
swirls into the sky,
soars higher, disappears,
leaves an unexpected
hole in the day
the size of an eagle.