NaPoWriMo Day 10: The Curlew, She Calls Me

Nothing moves me more than their call

Whooping joyfully over the tents

Winding up over and over

A perpetual toy helicopter

Always on the verge of either

Taking off or landing

The beating wings so fierce

So fast

Then soaring effortlessly

While their ghost cries fill the

Grey afternoon.

Then comes the night

Oyster catchers fly purposefully north east

Heading for the coast

Chasing the low tide

Yet the curlew still roams

Perhaps she’s guarding her nest

Perhaps she’s talking to a neighbour

Perhaps she’s just out doing bird errands

Humans can’t fathom.

The curlew swoops, night-cloaked and haunting

Joyfully spiralling upward in tone

Calling me to linger

Calling me to wonder

Calling me to see.