I saw one brown otter cross the Row,
and bound to the green-soup marsh below,
where two crowned herons shared a log,
like scientists observing fog,
then three teal ducks, as I approached,
took off like sprinters, fast, well-coached,
while four red hawks from a dead tree nest
departed post-haste from a well-earned rest,
near the river where five egrets stood
stock-still like a grove of white birch wood.
The sky greyed out this magical scene,
late afternoon, September 15.
Yes, it adds to 15.
Just do the math
as you stroll down
our bucolic path.
September 15, 2005