by TONY STEVEN WILLIAMS
Despite summer’s glare, it’s twilight in here
with a faint but not unpleasant woody smell.
I sit on the bench, pull up my binoculars,
focus across the wetlands at black swans:
a family feeding in the quiet stream, parents
complementing the greens, blues and yellows
of the fens with their blackness, their scarlet beaks,
flashes of white piercing through plumage.
Mother forages in front, Father guards the rear,
four soft-grey cygnets float close.
To one side, another adult stretches,
flaps its wings, honks, perhaps a relative.
Of course, they can’t see me, but then . . .
that’s the whole idea of a bird hide.
Perhaps that makes me a clandestine spy
surveilling their every movement,
but without malice, without motive.
I’m not looking for indiscreet couplings,
food thieving, abusive behaviour, littering,
swan swearing, speeding or cygnet neglect.
No, beautiful pen and cob, I track you with joy,
hoping this year’s offspring fare well.
– Jerrabomberra Wetlands, Canberra, ACT