I came down to the water here throughout the winter long
To simply see a raft of migrant scaup,
Through chill and ice, and darkness during dusk and dawn.
I wondered how they could stand the coldness
Of the water just to be with me.
Winter will end, I supposed, when they depart.
This local cove would sometimes sit so still and vacant,
Until some clock-free natural rhythm brought them
Back from someone else’s local where.
Until at last, the wherever they had flown to was North.
Winter lasted, then, through this departure –
The first of April – longer than I would have guessed,
If not as long as I began to hope.
I miss the gladness of their being here, within one winter,
Among those days, amidst my fancies.
They are now on flights, departed along the flyways
That have sent me winging.
