Before the day breaks over
the black silhouette of Sulphur Peak,
the Mourning Doves moan
from dreams and the quail beckon
broods with marching songs, while
Roadrunners call long distance—
rehearsing harmonies
humanity would do well
to learn and listen to.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2024
Tagged Humanity, melodies, mourning dove, photography, poetry, quail, Roadrunners
The same old song at dawn
remains unchanged at dark—
the Roadrunners’ refrain
across the pasture,
lest we forget
world affairs…
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2024, poetry
Tagged photography, poetry, Roadrunners, world affairs
I have cut myself away
from the entangled coils
of ship and state
drawn more to songs
among the cactus cuckoos
at first light of dawn—
tossed across the pasture
deep-throated news
I can depend on
while a lone quail hollers
to awaken coveys
like children for school.
But I still don’t trust
the cry-baby whines
of our arrogant Ring Neck’s.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry
Tagged news media, photography, poetry, politics, quail, Ring Neck Dove, Roadrunners
The hollow sounds before daylight,
hillside Roadrunners awakening in the black,
their plaintive solos, reverberating notes
awaiting an answer, a location, a place
to be filled in the future, a pile of twigs
within the spines of cactus
beneath this soft comforter of clouds,
days trailing a meager rain to shield us
and the dew upon the grass.
The day is yet empty, moments awaiting
purpose and order. In my mind, I see
the tools I’ll need to be useful.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022
Tagged dawn, order, photography, poetry, purpose, Roadrunners, useful
In the early stillness
when sky is white
above the ridgeline,
hollow coos
of Roadrunners
spill off dark hillsides,
a sprinkle of sounds
almost like a song
for themselves—
or for all of us
who have endured
these years of drought
to rise early yet
to carry on
upon this earth.
Blessed are the birds—
may their gods
be ours.
We’ve been watching a pair of Roadrunners building a nest in a nearby cottonwood, what appear to be last May’s juveniles. Though we knew we had at least two hatches each year, we assumed both were from adult birds.
There is nothing scientific about our observations, no tags or names and we are not inclined to build blinds, put cameras on tripods and wait in 100 plus degrees to prove a point. Fortunately this was not a quick exercise, allowing time to go into the house last evening to get the camera with my 400 mm lens to catch this pair still engaged.
drycrikjournal 