Souring soundlessly across the rippled pond
a swallow joins me at the wetlands.
Taunting me, my feet planted solidly against the gravel path,
the swallow earns its spot on the food chain
while insects fatefully meet their demise.
Like a Japanese watercolor,
a rounded avian pair meet the morning,
perched, delicately, on an unadorned branch.
An early Robin, having already gotten the worm,
waits patiently for me to avert my gaze.
Only then will breakfast be delivered
to her hungry nestlings
waiting quietly overhead.
I turn my face toward the sun
seeking its warmth
while slowly moving along the gravel path
searching for what the wetlands offer this morning.