lovely lunches

All the birds in the skies were singing, swirling overhead in wild flight patterns, in unison, tumbling like acrobats, pure grace and theatrics. Like children playing, unnoticed, continuing the dance of wings and feathers, natural and dreamy. Wishing I could be like birds, singing unconventionally, swooping, stirring the treetops, being fellow to bats and foe to locusts...I am dreaming, lulled by chirps and drawn out "ah-hoooo, ah-hoooo" flit, ti-ti-ti-ti, cacaw-cacaw...like the musings of an ebo, no batteries needed. A loon calls out and another answers as the water gurgles. Lightly, she lands on top of the water and rests on the small wake of the waves. Peaceful, calming.

Under the surface, down in the deep, muddy waters, a dark history still present, relative to dinosaurs, a killer waits. A landing stirs the senses, breaking the silence, clawed feet move effortlessly through the water. What seems clumsy and ugly on land is beauty in motion under currents. Only seconds pass as webbed feet push the heavy body forward, upwards. Monstrous jaws break the surface, snapping around a startled fowl, no fight, only lunch, changing the meaning of birds of prey.