Leaving Perkins Pond
Disappointed I haven’t seen any loons,
I stand at the ring of this lake,
say an October good-bye
after a weekend of kayaking, swimming.
As I turn away, a splash draws
me back around. Three baby mallards dash
by me on the water. A loon races
after them. When close enough, he lifts
his black head, puffs his white chest,
flaps wings, spars like a prizefighter.
The ducklings squawk, speed to their corner.
The loon gloats, proud he won this round.
Author: Nancy Manning
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