Sole survivor of three,
robust and full of life,
the fledgling flaps in a frenzy
almost falling, rehearsal for flight.
Wayward chance had brought
these strange sublime creatures
to settle in Kielder forest
on a rough ball of sticks.
Stately sire swoops over the lake
seeking a fish to bring.
Successful, he watches nearby
as his offspring attacks the gift.
Such parental care
breeds inexorable progress,
and the nest once more is bare.
When I read the Early Words from Brenda, I was flummoxed. So it was with delight that I fastened on my daughter’s suggestion this morning to write about the progress and winding down of the Ospreywatch in Northumberland. I wrote a poem The Kielder Gypsy a couple of years ago during the first osprey watch, but as I have submitted it to a competition, I can’t post it here.
I changed channel to lake for the sake of truth, so this is the one word I haven’t used.