Feather Song
The Pelicans’ Flight

These pelicans fly so near — I can hear feathers sing
I have the soaring glory of nature in my back yard.
The wonder of this road that I walk every morning and most afternoons is that it hugs the very edge of the high bluff that plummets down to the sand below and the Pacific Ocean just beyond. At low tide there’s a wide span of compact sand between the bluff and the water, but at high tide the ocean licks bluffy feet and if there’s a strong wind to boot, frothy ankles and calves as well.
My daily path overlooks that big, big, unruly water out there.
Birds that fly or glide (as in seagulls) about the sand below, will still fly at (or below) my road-bound eye level, ear level, and often very closely.
Just like these pelicans that keep coming in batches of twenty or thirty right now, almost within arm’s reach.
Do they have any idea, I wonder, of the effect they create within this dumbfounded human who almost shivers with delight in seeing them? No, I don’t think so, and if they do, well, they keep the straightest faces of all god’s creatures.
They are not the most graceful risers, nor the most skilled landers, but once in the air, and with a little head- (or tail-) wind, they skate the air like royalty.
And still they keep coming, twenty more, and after that twenty more.
I have forgotten how to walk. I have forgotten language, both English and Swedish. Struck dumb I dwell in an ongoing (oncoming) orgy of feather and wind.
People drive half a continent to see this. Here’s the soaring glory of nature in my back yard.
And, again, I pinch myself just to make sure.
© Wolfstuff






