A Gooseberry Island Sunset Page III

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September, 2K Updated March 22, 2004

Sandpipers

Little birds running at the edge of the waves

With legs blurred in motion.

Back and forth in a choreographed dance

With their brethren and the sea.

Their busy lives are occupied in the cycles of the shore.

Chasing to drive a drill point beak after what he craves,

Just before the undulation.

To beat hasty retreat, on the edge of chance,

Before the crashing surf, tittering with glee,

To about-face and charge in for more.

Seems a monotonous cycle, those little birds on the beach,

But sit you down, give them more than a glance,

For a little education,

In the sandpiper's ways.

It's familiar to the core.

There are family groups, but some encroach,

A lowered head, humped up back, one takes the advance,

Cursing with high pitched emotion,

Chasing the intruder away.

From their little patch of shore.

A clam, little bigger than a pea,

Is a feast for one,

Or a battle for many,

As each tries to get his share,

Only to be lost to all when a seagull stakes claim.

Be aware of that "hiccup dance",

Performed before your amused stare,

Bobbing motion on legs so skinny!

Seems, elsewhere, another is done,

Thrashing in the waves to get free,

But steps free, bathed and un-maimed.

Then, alas, the call is elsewhere.

They pick up and fly to another place of plenty.

The sun is setting on another day

And it's time to scurry home.

With images of Sandpiper life

Making parallel lines with your own. . .

Back to A Sun Set At Gooseberry Island, Page I (Introduction) Back to A Sun Set At Gooseberry Island, Page II (Prose about a sunset) A Sun Set At Gooseberry Island Page IV (Space to Be Filled) Back to Blowin' Smoke At Coffee House on the Turtle's Back