Avian Happy Hour

 

By the pond, black-tipped wings

tucked under a shawl of white feathers,

Wood Storks land, one after another,

until there are eight. Perfect!

It’s two for one Tuesday.

 

With shiny black beaks, they

scour the lawn for free apps,

their ebony heads bent like tourists

poring over treasures from the sea.

 

As evening’s pale light dims,

a Bald Eagle swoops near and

crashes the party. Wood Storks

move a few paces and close rank.

The eagle takes flight.

 

Wood Storks linger just beyond

the porch where we sit sipping wine

until one pair, then another,

spread wings in flight until…

They all disappear.

 

 

Lorraine Walker Williams

 

About the poem: This poem was created from a surprise visit by 8 Wood Storks. It was fun imagining them arriving in time for “Happy Hour.”