Ouzel Song

Ouzel Song

by Winter Creek Jack. 


quiet afternoon down by the creek

teasing raspberries from their tangled keep

sycamores holding up the sleepy clouds

with lazy lacy fingers


water drawing me in conversation

over slick-black limbs of seasons past

and speckled granite  stoic forms from

before those seasons were conceived


affable  the water ouzel  dipping  dipping

under rill and plaited froth

his flight  tumbled stone to stone beneath

cerulean reflections endless flowing

from dripping moss-branch purchase

singing out his warbling tune for none

and yet  the liquid dialog seems to still

in solemn admiration…



Winter Creek Jack, a naturalist and writer. Forty-five years residing in the remote, peaceful seclusion of the

Angeles Nat’l. Forrest, Southern California: kerosene his light, wood his heat, transportation and supplies by foot or accommodating mule. Gentle wildlife, endless variety of berry-growth and blooms, no civilized pandemonium—idyllic.

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