Bird Sanctuary

The reverential chapel-hush is shattered
as we arrive door-slamming in the car park.
A childish shout resounds from the back seat,
"Is this the Bird Park?"
her words explode
and drizzle down to silence
like an egg, thrown against a wall.
The twitchers give us disapproving looks.

The man in charge
(bearded of-course and socks with sandals)
tells us Kingfishers Have Been Sighted.

We tiptoe down the board-walk, beside the crystal pools,
whisperly enter a huge windowed 'hide'
no self respecting bird would be fooled by
the reed bed is deserted
we wait
dragonflies mate tail to tail
like push-me-pull-yous
we wait
one lonely moorhen shrugs between the clumps
we wait
a distant pigeon flaps between the trees.

We creep on
quieter than native trackers
no twig-snap warns the King of fishers.
We listen to the countryside
it is quiet -- too quiet
no traffic
no aeroplanes

no birds!