© Glen Sorestad

The Old Dance

The first pair of Red-necked Grebes
I've seen this year are on the pond
as I step along the gravel path,
the park walk my morning ritual.
It is spring, the sun is warm.

I cross the small causeway
that divides the pond and see
them swim towards each other,
then rise up from the water,
breast to breast, beak to beak,
their feet furious paddles
propelling them upright
in this showy water ballet.

I am of no consequence here.
It is spring, the sun is warm,
and Nature, everywhere, urges
these annual rites, dances
that sing the mystery of life,
the promise of the season.