so green and iridescent in the sun,
such orange feet displayed in waddling tread,
designed, of course, to swim and not to run.
He flaps his wings before he settles down
so regally upon the floating wharf,
so much at ease, but then he looks around.
We're very still so he won’t metamorph
Into a paddle boat and swim away.
Does he have family? Little ones half grown?
A weasel prowls the shore in search of prey.
Is that the reason why he's all alone?
He turns his head and nips beneath his wing,
then listens to the trees and robins sing.
Ruth Latta is a writer in Ottawa, Canada. Her most recent book is the novel, Grace in Love (firstname.lastname@example.org) For more information about her and her writing, visit her blog