Long, Long Ago,
On a cello played,
Flushed the ducks
And they flew away
From yet another bow.
A horsehair bow
Tickling their wings
Like a horse swats a fly.
A rosined bow
Aiming sine waves
Not arrows.
My bow
My heartstrings'
Shared vibrations.
As the ducks return,
Their settling on the pond
Creates in me
a déjá vu
Like they used to do
Long, long ago.
Yes, love that feeling - I can see the ducks settling on the pond - today, and in memory. Beautiful. We have a pair of ducks who chose our pond, too. I am hoping for baby ducks come spring.
ReplyDelete