Hiking with a group of twenty
over Mount Burdell in spring,
everyone walking slower than me
stopping to view the boring wood peewee
or vireo flycatcher.
The only reason I came—
to glimpse the stunning
lazuli bunting.
Bright as a bluebird,
smaller and more teal
with a cinnamon chest and milky belly,
rare as a clear agate
found in a dark wood.
Every stop where the acorn woodpecker
flashed a bit of white on its wing,
every stop to listen
to the chipping sparrow’s song
I bit my lip,
but forged on.
Nowhere to pee,
nowhere to sit for lunch
but on a pile of thistle
and tick season at that—
I would not turn back.
I came to view the lazuli bunting.
The very last trail we hiked up,
the park ranger heard its call,
nowhere to be seen among the buckeye and oak.
A house wren appeared in a tree’s cavern
feeding its young,
so industrious and perky as a sprite.
I did not care.
I came to view the lazuli bunting.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Terri Glass is a writer of the natural world which includes poetry, essay and haiku. She is the author of the chapbook Birds, Bees, Trees, Love, Hee Hee from Finishing Line Press, and her work has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, including About Place, Young Raven’s Literary Review, California Quarterly and Fire and Rain: Ecopoetry of California. She is the former director of California Poets in the Schools. She has her MFA in creative writing from USM. www.terriglass.com