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.
PoetryPix 
What a wonderful scenery… Today I passes a bird-lake where geese where resting on their way towards the north… didn’t see any Brent… but plenty of ornithologists …
we call them tiwitchers – flocks of big zoom lens camera folk
Geese are one of my favorites, probably because they’re symbolic of writing and creativity! Beautiful poem. So sorry about what happened in London. Please know our flags are half-mast here for you all. Take care. xx
hands across the water Kate – thankyou. The UK Brent geese know something of that too – white-bellied ones head up to Canada – dark bellys go to Russia – but all come back here by Autumn