"Gentle lapping sunlit waters, wet bare feet and jeans..."
“Gentle lapping sunlit waters, wet bare feet and jeans…”

Artic travelers arrived in flocks, migrating
South, resting, eating, gathering collective
Strength on Maine rocky shorelines and
Secluded island beaches. At first light, we
Were awakened by cacophony of birds,
Welcomed sounds and sights, broad wind-
Maneuvering wings, departing far reaches
Of Baffin Island and Labrador.

Clad in clashing camo, occasional winter
Plaid, boot-wearing birdwatchers ventured
Forth to Maine marshlands, muddy food-
Rich edge of tidal waters, encroached by
Telephoto lenses, cameras, tripods. Today,
I found an isolated spot, gentle lapping
Sunlit waters, wet bare feet and jeans,
I felt more bird than birdwatcher.

All year, I watched seabirds: vexing gulls,
Sanderlings, or ocean-soaring terns in
Maine spruce islands, we share rocky
Coves, narrow strips of sand, and at times,
Conversation, deepest secrets, concerns,
Listening for bits of lunch, from lofty
Perspectives of cloud and sky, problems
Solved in water-dipping screeches.

"His or her birds took flight south to Maine..."
“His or her birds took flight south to Maine…”

Upon Baffin’s high fiords or on pebbly
Labrador beaches, someone like myself
Finds joy and solace of feathered souls
Darting Arctic skies, sailing over clifftops,
Inuit or fisherman, camo and boots, his
Or her birds took flight south to Maine,
Few days rest, our summer companions
Migrate to their distant winter refuges.

Fun poem about birdwatching, whether summer
or f
all, backyard visitors or shoreline birds. For
more on Maine birding see this link:


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