The following poem is from Painting South Pier, my collection of poetry, written from observing my then new South Pier neighborhood. It’s available at Water’s Edge Press. This winter, these beautiful visitors have arrived several weeks later than I am accustomed to seeing them.
Winter Business
A pair of Common Merganser ducks arrived today.
They skimmed the river just upstream from a thin
ice floe, their bright orange feet making a swish-smooth
landing. A small flock of Canada Geese nearer the harbor
has taken no notice of the newcomers.
While her mate dives for a mid-morning snack,
the tufted-headed hen bobs nearby until it’s her turn
to hunt for fish, mollusks, or invertebrate tidbits below
the river’s rippled blue surface. She and I wait patiently
for his return. Then in an instant she is gone.
The ducks have come to winter here, where we also tend
to winter business—Christmas and a new year to ring in.
Like them, we must brave the weather, though our journey
to find food takes us quickly across town where packages
bedazzle us from supermarket shelves. And most nights—
a movie on TV—we will huddle under blankets until spring,
when we might venture out to our porch on a sunny afternoon.
By then the mergansers will have flown north, perhaps to a
bright Alaskan shore, where they will dive in colder waters
and wait in their high cliff nest for chicks to hatch.
The following poem is featured in the 2020-21 Wisconsin DNR Calendar for December 2020.
After the Solstice
From now on—at least for a while—
our days will be longer, tick by tick.
Not wanting to waste a moment,
I went out this morning with the dog
and wandered along the river teeming
with emerald-topped mallards, at ease
on open water, rippling deep blue
against a clear, bright sky.
Near the harbor, remnant ice floats
jam and crash against each other,
blending with a now-and-then quack
for today’s symphony.
What a sublime season if all of winter
were like today, temperatures so mild
grass emits its scent, a day the Sun,
who longs to touch the earth,
travels alone through cool air to whisper
hello and wrap us in a brief embrace.
Soon enough his passion will exhaust us,
but not today.
Today is a day for breathing light.
We exhale—with carefree lungs—a breath
that does not seize with icy grasp, but soothes
and reminds us that it is a gift to breathe.
The lake knows this, too.
The shoreline is banked with mounded spray—
frozen in time, glitter-white crystal hills—but
at their edges, the lake rocks gently, taking back
one glimmer at a time.
Poems on this page will change from time to time. The author reserves all rights.