The Jetty’s Sea Ducks Cold chilled January morn, toward a Jetty far from dawn. Misted waters, yearn for a search of Sea Ducks. Scoters pass, breaking light beams through the fog against a translucent horizon. Minus thirty, frees bobbing Harlequin's dancing spree. The rare frigid freeze, brings the timid birds off the frozen, rock-edifice perch. Southern Southerlies, oldsqaws heard from afar with long narrow pointed tails, glistening in white, that flashe against the ocean's blue. Wicked wind, it calls no friend. Eiders appear, now and then. Like tugs pushing against the crusted waters. Lavished in frigid ice, their bold hold on beauty, rarely seen South of Newfoundland. Dawn ends and temperatures drop. Iced rocks, enough for today. Walking back, frigid, and slow. Frost bitten hands, veiled glazed eyes; and facial hairs, frozen, crystalized. So at home, sanctuary of warmth. Looking deep into my soup, I stare and imagine: crackers as glazed rocks bobbing oysters as sea ducks chowder milk as iced sea. Cold chilled January filled a Winter day in me.

WildBird on the Fly! Check out Editor Amy K. Hooper's random dispatches from afield and at home.

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