I happen to look up. One silent hawk circles, Broad and easy overhead. It joins 3 or 4 more, Then circles off into the distance. I look down again. And hear the call of something, A trill. A “ha ha ha ha.” The tall, slender trees talk to each other, creaking. The water ripples, coldly, un-rushed, but not slow. Things move on. The wind in my hair, Birds in the distance, Calling, seeking, Lessening, deepening. A felled tree, like a bridge, Reaches halfway across the river. It’s green on the other side. But it’s green over here, too. I hear the rush of something, Like a highway, far away. A muffled “vrrrrr, vrrrrr.” I think of standing in the quiet, sacred center of Central Park And still hearing traffic. The roar in the distance Proves to be the wind Sightlessly moving through trees. A storm is not coming, but I think of how the air feels When one is on its way. The invisible roar reaches us— The birds and me and this creaking tree— And a quiet, full feeling emerges. I take part. The talking trees groan side to side, Springing to life, saying, unsteadiness, readiness. Water moves under the dock. I sit. I stand. I soften my knees and rock into my heels. My cold hands know This world is sunless, radiant, Breaking away. A fish! Out of nowhere Leaping midair, A blip in the continuum. I drop down. The sun’s up there, somewhere Behind this gray. I might wait. A fish! I might not.
Thanks to the Edward H. McCabe Nature Preserve for the space to breathe.