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Phalaropes
Slipping silently through light fog on Hood Canal,
my yellow kayak approached a long, dark dock
which on its seaward end held several hundred
black-beaked shorebirds, hunkered down.
As if taking cue from their choreographer,
they took sudden wing as if but one,
and began a synchronized ballet around me,
all rolling left and then all rolling right,
alternating their belly whites and gray backs,
air-danced swooshes on always perfect cue.
For their finale they converged to charge my bow,
neatly splitting into two to slide close around.
While enfolding me in their rush of little wings,
their shiny eyes seemed to summon my applause.
They re-alighted now on their quiet, winter dock,
as my black paddle rose to salute them,
for their brief but brilliantly choreographed ballet,
had given me a nearly perfect day.
- Terrence Cook, November 2004
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