Whalon Lake

by Jo-Ann Ledger

A wintry grey sky
denies it is Spring.
At the fen
I look into the
shallow, clear water
the plant life
looks like a Colorado
mountain forest
seen from a great
height
I feel disoriented
as if become giant
without growing an
inch.
A lone koi
swims past
an interloper
like me.
If I pricked my thumb
on this honey locust
would the drop of
blood
be the same colour
as the male cardinal
singing in the brush?
Is there enough
Spring
Magic today
to transform blood
into a bird?
I move on.
10 White Tail
in the glen
all turn, alert
no human gaze
could ever make
my heart thump
like these intent eyes
I want to bow.
Did you know –
all Red Wing Black-
birds
sound different?