Clouds reflect the splendor of the mountain’s amber hues,
Rock maples flaunt with shameless pride, adornment soon to lose.
Winds are lulled, the forest still,
Now trumpets call across the hill.
Instantly we know the sound
A thousand feet above the ground.
Wings abeating, smooth air flow,
Keen eyes scanning earth below.
Day is waning, fails the light.
Time for dropping from the height,
Time for refuge, rest and food,
Leader call to set the mood.
Now stay alert most noble flocks,
Your brethren fowl the hunter mocks.
Glide not down to join your kin.
Treachery your ranks may thin.
Little men with camouflage coats
Prowl everywhere in low slung boats
While others sit unseen in reeds,
Waiting as the quarry speeds.
Still others tend the wooden fleets
Of bogus birds with leaden cleats
While all the time instinct decrees
Tis time to drop below the trees.
Lower now by twilight’s glow
Oh, ever onward must they go.
Chill moon rising ore the field
But predators remain concealed.
With heartening call and clear reply
Night hears the squadron winging by.
The clarion sounds from each brave breast
Disturb not the heron at his rest
South by west the flock must drive.
What fate that waits did man contrive?
Perhaps a peaceful field of grain,
Safe landing, relief from hunger’s pain?
Yet sure it is in nature, fact,
That death may wait in wetland tract.
Fisher, fox or cat can lurk,
Or fate could show another quirk.
By dark of moon they’d best descend
Though carnivores do close attend
Their every movement to be met.
Still, morning brings a greater threat.
In the marsh ahead, by subtle hint,
The unseen flash of metal glint
Bespeaks the hazard to all creatures,
The alien being in earth’s quiet features.
There waits the hunter, trigger tense,
Following his inborn sense
To blast his quarry from the sky,
Scatter death- some know not why.
Don’t land at morning, though you might.
Remember peril comes by light.
Halt now in reddening gloom
Spare this day the coming doom.
As the sun now higher soars,
Gunner back to daily chores,
Make good your landing in the fields
Seek out the grain it yields
But winter has not slacked the pace.
Take wing again, rejoin the race.
Continue on your southward flight
You know the landmarks- they'll guide you right.
The goal is reached and refuge found,
The winter passed on bay and sound.
Then once again formations rise,
Returning to New England skies
With gladdening, hopeful hearts we’ll wait
Never knowing sure the date.
Trustful that they have not failed,
That nature has again prevailed.
Guy is also a gifted artist and wood carver. Please CLICK HERE to enjoy one of Guy's unique pieces of art.