Today's prompt was "a sound". Being a piper, my mind naturally went to that deep, elemental drone of bagpipes. But I figure the pipes are a good back up subject, and besides, it is too easy to go over the top with rhapsodical praise of the Great Instrument. And then I remembered a morning not too long ago, when the snow started melting, and there were little shorebirds wandering in the meadow rather than by the lake, with the worried-sounding little Killdear, calling from out of the grass and dry wildflowers of last year. So I wrote about that instead.
The Marsh, March 2017
The Marsh is flooded
And the well-known ways
Are rivers now, impassible.
The sound of water is everywhere.
Drought has vanished
Like a dream.
Where once was meadow
The Wood Ducks play
In waves of water and of grass.
The sky reflects a thousand times.
Cloud are racing
In every stream.
The Killdeer from shoreline
Far have strayed
And keen amid the willow breaks.
The Marsh gives back the plaintive sound
Of their crying
Spring! Spring! Spring!
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