I hear you before I see you:
raucous cry rasping from somewhere high above,
thunderous flapping of your spanning wings.
You dive swiftly beneath the jagged canopy of jutting branches
into this narrow time-bound tunnel.
Minnows play unaware.
Oh ancient creature of the Nile!
Once you were not, and then you came to be -
as suddenly into being as you dive and strike,
as swiftly then as now.
Sharp eyes, sharper beak, crooked neck, stilt-like legs -
A present witness to a primitive grace.
Your name bears evidence of a long unspoken tongue,
lost words that once enfolded worlds I know not of.
Your name is 'No Name' --your name alone,
derived from no other, singular and without meaning,
without etymology, without explanation.
Your name means You, but You -- to me -- are mystery.
Now in Cress Creek
you stand so still.
Without movement, without sound, you wait.
One with the water, one with the trees,
one with the sunlight and dancing shadows,
one with the breeze, you wait.
You stand so still.
The world around you relaxes.
Squirrels chirp and jump from tree to tree.
Geese form "V's" and honk boisterously overhead.
Coneflowers and pye weed stretch toward the sun.
But still you wait.
Commingled of earth, air, water and fire,
of hunger, yearning, passion and desire,
starkly still, you wait.
In a flash your head plunges toward the water.
You who taught lightning to strike
now pinion your prey with the spear of your beak.
You toss it up and swallow it,
whole.
Then, filling the thicket
with your rustling, spreading wings,
you lift your head skyward
and rise through the trees toward the sun.
You circle above my head,
long legs folded back, talons clearly visible.
Come to me, I plead. Swallow me. Consume me.
Lift me above this stream
of incomprehension. Carry me away. Bear me
into the presence of that which knows everything
but "then' and 'now,' 'here' and 'there,' 'me' and 'you.'
I watch you circle overhead,
and I wait.
© Poem by Budd Friend-Jones
Photo by Ann Bridges
raucous cry rasping from somewhere high above,
thunderous flapping of your spanning wings.
You dive swiftly beneath the jagged canopy of jutting branches
into this narrow time-bound tunnel.
Minnows play unaware.
Oh ancient creature of the Nile!
Once you were not, and then you came to be -
as suddenly into being as you dive and strike,
as swiftly then as now.
Sharp eyes, sharper beak, crooked neck, stilt-like legs -
A present witness to a primitive grace.
Your name bears evidence of a long unspoken tongue,
lost words that once enfolded worlds I know not of.
Your name is 'No Name' --your name alone,
derived from no other, singular and without meaning,
without etymology, without explanation.
Your name means You, but You -- to me -- are mystery.
Now in Cress Creek
you stand so still.
Without movement, without sound, you wait.
One with the water, one with the trees,
one with the sunlight and dancing shadows,
one with the breeze, you wait.
You stand so still.
The world around you relaxes.
Squirrels chirp and jump from tree to tree.
Geese form "V's" and honk boisterously overhead.
Coneflowers and pye weed stretch toward the sun.
But still you wait.
Commingled of earth, air, water and fire,
of hunger, yearning, passion and desire,
starkly still, you wait.
In a flash your head plunges toward the water.
You who taught lightning to strike
now pinion your prey with the spear of your beak.
You toss it up and swallow it,
whole.
Then, filling the thicket
with your rustling, spreading wings,
you lift your head skyward
and rise through the trees toward the sun.
You circle above my head,
long legs folded back, talons clearly visible.
Come to me, I plead. Swallow me. Consume me.
Lift me above this stream
of incomprehension. Carry me away. Bear me
into the presence of that which knows everything
but "then' and 'now,' 'here' and 'there,' 'me' and 'you.'
I watch you circle overhead,
and I wait.
© Poem by Budd Friend-Jones
Photo by Ann Bridges
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