Homeless

They wait, and move about
heads foraging at the ground,
caressing wings across their
bodies, cleaning the white
for they like to be clean and
will work tirelessly for it.
And if there is something, a
sandhill approaching or
perhaps a dog their heads will
raise in highest alert before
returning to the nuzzle of
ground.

In swoops a group of
three, a family together
for they too have discovered
the urban, the expanse where
saltmarsh does not reach. This
feeding of deer has brought
greedy eyes, us, the two legged
who stare at these, the rarest
of birds. And then it comes!
The whoop and shout and
they are dancing! It is not yet
time to mate, but they are
dancing, with a left leg rising,
then the right and wings all
on display and I want to dance
too, they are so filled with joy!

Five whoopers dancing, this
is what I saw in the land
that is not saltmarsh nor
summer’s nesting ground, a
habitat stretched, but removed
from the sea. Has the salt taken over
the marsh? Will the blue crabs
survive? Will the wolfberry
recover to spread the tasty red?
Will the corn ever be enough?
Questions I can’t answer, I can
only watch and note and hope
they will never be homeless in
a world that throws the vulnerable
away and cares not for the music
of wings.