Bird Book
By Helena R
My face,
Pressed against my bedroom window,
Fogging it up like a cloud.
And in my cold hands I clutch my bird book.
Patience is all I need.
For years I have been observing
Birds that stalk through the night,
Wander through the day.
Water fowl, grey with indigo and emerald,
Watching, diving, swimming, hunting
Through the water: muddy brown.
Little ones, the Wrens and Robins,
Flittering high above and building nests in the Eucalypts.
Last of all, the birds of prey,
I respect them, but only from a distance.
They swoop and dive and scavenge for food,
What an awful mess they make.
And then there’s me,
My face still pressed against the window,
Always there, watching, waiting.