New Year Mystery

Black garbage bags, knife and gloves murmur mystery 
as the two of us stride out along the berm of the lake 
past the pelicans fishing the channel on the incoming tide 
past the cormorants, gulls and Little terns at the edge
pause to admire the delicate grey heron in the bull rushes.

It was further along the littoral shore amidst the swamp oaks
where day-trippers, overnighters, drifters had left rubbish –
a place to use our power  to help in the one small way we could.

Yet the day expanded into a bigger mystery. A whimper
from a plump, fluffy kookaburra  alone on the ground caught 
our attention. In the tree tops there was kookaburra mayhem
The chick stayed like a statue until i moved closer and it lifted
of, flapped its way onto a low branch. An hour later on the walk
back, looking more like an orphan, it remained motionless
with more the pose of an owl. There was still noisy agitation
from the large palm, not a kookaburra laugh but a droning call
and  here we were powerless to help.

Colleen Keating