one morning
sitting by the water
mist tumbles
over the foreground of water
the backdrop is
new spring trees
billowing fresh green
close to the water’s surface
fly small black birds
maybe a flock of a hundred
tiny wings spotted white
they flew inches from the surface
never did they dive in
or touch the lake
below the fog they darted
a mating ritual?
i walked away
watching some more
we were solitary
on this cool june morning
my dog “scotch,” and i
and this bevy of dark black birdies
