First light crawls across the lake
carving geese and birds against the purple sky,
orange flames spiraling into spring cold,
the language of the sun written in light
upon the sleeping world,
the night walkers solace folded
like the heron’s broad wing,
the coots thin faces suddenly white
on the edges of the wind,
drifting in the shallows
as if on the first morning,
their wings on the water
beside swaying cattails
disturbing the peace
with their wildness.




9 Responses to “Coots”

  1. David Banner says:

    Don…this reminds me of our recent trip to Costa Rica, where the herons and coots abound….lovely image!

  2. Pichai says:

    thank you Don…

  3. Very imagistic! I love coots because of their neon orange babies and their ancient blue lobed feet and because they are the mud-hens World Maker made dive deep for the mud from which you and I were created.

  4. jack says:

    I can feel it all, on this wind whipped morning.


  5. keith fairmont says:

    When I read the title I knew it was gonna be good.
    I wasn’t disappointed.

  6. Pat Fitzsimmons says:

    I enjoyed the image of disturbing the peace for the sake of wildness.

  7. Stan Grindstaff says:

    Sibilants in every line, carving space with the light of sound…

  8. Robert Hollis says:

    Being an old coot myself..
    This was very pretty, brother!

  9. Bill Dare says:

    Sweet, Bro… brings back many happy times.

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