Saturday, June 4, 2016

The Box by the Bay

With apologies to Theodor Seuss Geisel

Walks in the spring, we look for birds,
Natalie and I, some say we're nerds. 
With boots on feet, and bins in the hand, 
Feathered things we seek, across the land.

A warm pleasant day, not so long ago,
In Ohio we were, were swamp trees grow.
A lodge, a beach, the park - Maumee Bay,
Bird here we did, at the end of the day.

On boardwalks of wood, slowly we paced,
This path through the trees, the past we traced.
We can say this, its sad, its even true
Birds on this walk, numerically few.

It really is a wonder, one might say,
Why this place can be vacant, when just up the way....
Crane Creek and their trail, with wonder and awe,
birds dripping from trees, bugs in their maw.

The walk to ourselves, for birds we stare.
Looking and listening, with patience, with care.
Not much here, a lesser birder might scowl,
Nat broke the silence - "Holy shit! An owl!

A box on a tree, not uncommon in the wood,
They're placed as a home, for animals they're good. 
The Wood Duck, they use them, gone natural holes, 
They work well on trees, on buildings, on poles. 

But its not just the duck, others may use,
Squirrels can perch here, raccoons may snooze. 
But this owl?  Seriously?  Living in a box? 
Yeah, you bet.  For the Eastern Screech, it rocks. 

The hole is perfect size, the box is as well,
Duplicating  a natural cavity, all is swell.
On a chilly spring day, bright sun can be great,
South facing hole, sun on his pate. 

I suspect one might say "Paul, your an ass...
....give the bird some space, have some class.
He's delicate and vulnerable, if he flushes, he's dead...
If he dies, your day is long, filled with dread..."

I say, the box - look, don't blame me.
Within feet of the boardwalk, it sits in the tree.
Reach it I can't, at arms length it is not, 
But, boy, is it close, what a chance I've got.

With my giant lens, the bird sitting there,
We did not speak, we used every care.
We soon moved on, further down the way,
The owl? It never moved, in the box to stay.


Not long after, let the record show,
The lodge was packed, birders on the go,
The Biggest Week in Birding, hundreds on site, 
The owl in the box, be found, he might?

Sure enough, I discover, found he was,
Seen by the masses, the conversation, the buzz.
The little red owl, in his box by the bay,
Bringing joy to many, on a chilly May day.

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