The dit diddy datts of night’s cool rains have only just begun to create their jazzy improvisations … in sky lights streaking shaft hot tongues towards iron and copper Earth golems … afternoon was blessed warm and the Sun met the lake with joyous play … it was the eagles’ first sighting of Floating Fox since the thaw of last winter’s crystal coma … his strength was apparent in both his ability to churn up the muddy bank and in the vibrancy of his colors … he is now larger than any channel cat which dares swim in his school … he is the master of these waters now … they follow where he flows in reverence, not obedience … the black of his koi legacy is far deeper ink than any of their native Mississippi ghost grey skins … he is golden and marigold~orange with fire … and to them, he must be surely be, the samurai fish come from legends told from the boat himself … Blue Ictalurus of the Small Waters … he had witnessed such koi in the ancient spring pond … from here his father’s fathers came… the old waters above the new born lake in which they all swam together now … it was foretold one day an eagle would succeed in stealing Floating Fox from his spawn and spread … to this day not one mighty enough had come to bear a white head so fierce they could pierce the dragon scales of this other worldly warrior … nor were they a match for him in mid air combat when the sharp talons of his whiskers stung them venomously … and the beating of his mighty tail fins sent them into a downward spiraling retreat …
From Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository
How will I best be of service in the days to come? … I linger at the ice islands … white~blue upon the growing shadows of the river’s approaching slumber … beneath summer~less limbs perch and prey holds to the day eagles’ glint of razor talons sole security … mesmerized by the warmth the memories of Blue Gill can offer in such sentinel staunch hours … eyes mild for a mere mouse of a morsel to pluck from the bank below … before Bitterness and Night tear away the glory of the sky in their clamor dance … to possess and ravage the sunrise while She still dreams of becoming a Blood Orange pudding fit for Dawn to wear … to the cosmic order we all have been born … in their service they embrace all with purpose, skillful matrix … even to the barbs on their flight feathers … thus in truth I shall be the strength of a constant carrying wind.
© 2014 Carla Dawn Dunlap and S.I.A. All Rights Reserved