The Man with the Flute

The Man with the Flute

The birds of winter find a home on the beach
Where the man with the flute feeds them.
Beside the infinite ocean
Gray-green like the overarching sky
Wings flutter in anticipation.
They jostle each other and peck
Finding best position in the crowd.
The sand is hard, rocks line the shore.
A stray dog barks and they scatter
Back to the waves, floating together
In the metallic water
Over curling tide that crashes into splinters,
Freezing foam on the rocks
They persevere.
When danger passes they leap into the wind
Feet and chubby bellies landing gracelessly
To chase more bits of corn.
The ocean is indifferent, cold and hard
The setting sunlight strains to be seen
Through the darkening clouds.
Dinner for the ducks is nearly done.
The man with the flute comes every day,
And the birds and I wait.
In the late afternoon as fall becomes winter,
I sit in my heated car
While they shake frigid droplets from wings and beaks.
It is food for me too.
I rest assured that compassion rules the steely winter.

Barbara Gilbert, 11/19/15

http://youtu.be/t6RW4h5PnRk

Bravo Mike Martin for flute playing and videography!!