Here come the Pelicans,
Eight in a row
Following their leader,
Steering with their heads.
I stand at attention and salute.
Such primitive birds!
It feels right to honor
Their military instincts.
I’ll miss them.
Within a few days
We will be back in Vermont
Where the birds are less organized.
They don’t patrol the periphery
But it’s each for him or herself.
(Snowbirds explode like a volley
Of sooty snowballs into the woods
Where they magically catch and stay
Until the next gust blows them far away.)
Here things look like a terrarium.
The glass walls are ice.
They don’t protect anymore.
I feel stronger up there.
I want to go home.
— Gary Lindorff
GARY LINDORFF, TCBH’s resident poet, is an artist, musician, writer and Transformational Counselor specializing in dreamwork and shamanic techniques, living in rural VT with his wife and two cats. He has a website at Bigdreamsweb.com and can be reached at: firstname.lastname@example.org