Black-bellied Brents flood our salt marsh ponds
fat on eel grass the dissonant flotilla
watery glints between each bobbing bird
A sudden flap and some depart the madding crowd
no signal but magnetic pull of kin and Spring
iron-filing clump to arrowhead
pin-pointing thousands of North Easts away
All will track the Tundra trail
empty English landscapes until Autumn
Joining Words Count with Mama Zen. She asks for less than 60 words to describe something observed that was odd, unusual, or just plain weird.
London had the terrorist attack which I don’t want to dwell further upon (see “A murder“). Prior to this I’d observed multitudes of Brent Geese and wondered at the how, when and why they make their migration to Siberia from individual groups that take leave of the massed flocks in sudden and seemingly random ways.
See Brent Geese migration