Rough

 Life is “rough” 

There we were assembled in the

spray fields

Opened to us perchance to record

that wayward Ruff 

blown across the gulf

veering from some internal map 

to flap its way to us

those with the life lists to complete

before John James called them home

were first in the order of pecking

Leopolds and Zeiss 

Glass beyond five hundred

Carried by Sherpas burdened

Followed by the bantam Bushnells

And off brand tasco glass

Not good for much 

Not up for the task at hand

Not even sure what a Ruff was

Curious more than called

Trooping at a pace so as not to

Cause a flush

The collected order of birders

In the uniforms of off green colors

moved as if on cue

then up came the hand of Jerry

for he could hear before we could see

and a hush descended

the fingers fumbled

the focus sharpened 

the pen pushed to the unchecked box

you could hear a lens drop

and there, at least a half mile ahead

among the coot and assembled no names

Preened as if sent from Audubon himself

the heavenly Ruff

we of the lesser glass

were called to the front

to view through the Swarovski 

spotting scope

this visage in its winter plumage 

we see! we see! But dared not say

We hadn’t a clue what we saw.

And so in a climax of sorts

We went into a post after smoke

Quiet in our own ecstasy 

Steeled for the long trudge back

To the assembled Prius.

Life is rough

At least for a day it was.