the bird watchers

it's a group

of older men and women,

silver haired,

all

with expensive cameras,

tripods,

their folding

chairs,

their lenses

and back packs full

of sandwiches

for

the cold afternoon

observing nature.

each whispering to the other.

pointing

towards a tree,

or water,

look, look, right over

there,

a beaver, a heron, a red

winged black

bird. and what's that

in the lair?

carefully i tip toe by,

not saying

a word.