They circle and there’s sound.
Turmoil in the trees and grace over water,
Pinions bend inches from the surface.
And the redheads scream and chase,
As we scuttle the grass and giggle and cry.
They swirl and we drink.
Echoes of flight in mist that consumes,
We watch the ground, breathless and unaware.
And the redheads drill and scream,
As we snag the limbs and pop the lines.
They drift and then vanish.
Stilt walking, yellow-footed in the shallow,
There’s reclamation when no one’s around.
And the redheads scream and dive,
As we crunch the gravel and stir the dust.