Red Kites

Geometric phalanxes of wings hatch the sky above
as the great birds, strung on the end of their far-seeing vision
like an actual tethered, painted kite, lofted on high,
-vertically constrained, but horizontally free-
swoop and angle, on the edges of the pirouetting air.

Consummate gliders, cruising the thermal highways
these mighty raptors, scan the patchwork below
for mouse, rabbit or whatever tasty carrion is in sight.

They patrol their tract,
alert to the comings and goings of man
with auguries of leftovers or things to scrounge -
yet they are far too stately to be called scavengers!
In medieval lore – and rural townships today
they constitute health and safety assets
clearance maestros.

I watched their black cousins plane the updrafts along the Nile
for many years.
High afternoon - when all other sensible creatures took their siesta –
I watched them swirl and drift, with barely the flip of a feather
as if suspended, swinging on a cosmic string!
But slowly, slowly they slide and spiral downwards
until, by the hasty Mugrib hour
when the sun falls precipitately over the desert edge
and the quick stars pop up in the gloaming
(as if some speedy street lighter was flicking the switch)
the kites, at tree-top level by then, change gear
and flap away, hastening to their roosts in the Banyan trees….
.…the same as here, except, in our tardy hemisphere
of lengthy even-tides,
it is to the Oak and Ash they fly
but with the same sense of urgency
marking days’ end.