The Elk River, Calm and Indifferent

Under a cool winter wind and bright sky, the river sits still,
serene; seeing or doing nothing while winter has its sway,
just a squawking gull piercing and disturbing the quiet,
landing on the river, unsatisfied, screeching, taking off
as a larger, darker gull approaches, a gull which is no gull at all
but an eagle, a young eagle not yet with its bright white head
and tail. The raucous gull dogs and bombs the eagle
as it circles pretending to ignore that wretched noisy gull,
gliding down almost to the water and up again, circles, and
dives again to the water, and up again, all the time tailed
by that gull and down again, this time catching a dead fish
in its talons, but dropping it, retreating to the trees that line
the river bank, the gull returning to the river and its dead fish
loudly proclaiming possession, tearing at the flesh of the fish.
The eagle returns, the gull takes off and their dance
in the air continues, circling, weaving, gliding, the gull loud
and aggressive, bobbing and dogging the eagle, the young
eagle’s motion smooth and silent as it swoops down toward
the delectable dead fish, misses and tries again and misses yet
again, retreating once more to the trees on the river’s bank,
the gull noisily returns to its dead fish, as the current conveys
it and its prize down stream,
the young eagle watching warily,
the river calm and indifferent.