Eagle Dance

Just below the thundering torrent
a stately congress fills the bare elms—
powdered heads arrive, depart,
most dignified, yet without
great ceremony,
ebbing and flowing
like the churning, roiling waves
at their sharp, golden feet.
Traveling light,
these out-of-towners seem to
know all the finest accommodations,
every hot spot with the tastiest eats.
Courting, jostling, harping,
in their turn they rouse,
ascending in broad, deliberate arcs,
by twos and threes,
to hover patiently, then
swoop suddenly and dine
al fresco.
With grace they navigate
the ice fog, thick and grey
as oat porridge,
enduring sleet and snow,
undeterred by unsuccessful sorties,
and apparently unfazed
by the throngs that likewise
come and go in exuberant and joyful,
yet hushed and awed audience
to the Great River’s
annual and eagerly awaited spectacle,
the January Eagle Dance.

                                                   — D. W. McMillen
                                                       11January  2008

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