Redshank
- a birdwatching trip to Faversham
Surmounting the slippery path beside the low tide creek,
We're greeted by a ballet of avocets shading
A marbled brown, sentinel bird, nervously tail-bobbing,
Made far less plain by red legs and red bill;
Surprisingly vivid for one so wary. On watch
For stooping talons by murmur of sparkling wings
To pipe incessant alarms. In flight the yapping
Note crisply resolves to buoyant whistle,
Neither wistful nor desolate.
A methodical gleaner of muddy shallows,
Probing and picking I know them best
(Although they do appear on many
Yellowing lists of far-flung trips)
From polished shores of ephemeral mud,
Buffeted by siberian gusts standing guard
By glistening pools and slimy runnels of marsh.
My cold scopings are not incongruous
With sweltering encounters exploring shy lagoons,
Embattled estuaries and drained marshes,
Where stout guards for years have piped to smile
My homesickness. At the seal-clogged Swale,
Today, I hear in their shrill pitch a warning of
Impoverished nature, as my wife’s daughter
Keenly adjusts the redshank into focus.
November 2020