thewayoftheworld

Outside my shuttered window

is a disappearing lake

under the spell of entropy,

slowly becoming marshland

then one day a grassy field

to be surveyed and staked.

At this brief moment in time

it appears to be owned

solely by a pair of nesting swans

who tolerate for a little while

the occasional migratory bird

heading toward or from

their own disappearing habitat.

It’s not for swimming or boating

and not for people who like fast things,

things on this lake move only as fast as hunger

will allow.

The swans had six babies last year

last seen, still brown coated from birth

who dutifully followed in their parents’ wake

until only one remained.

Did they wake to find their babies gone

to the passing nourishment

of one of God’s less liked creatures?

Did the fittest survive

or was it dumb luck?

Because there is no such thing

as smart luck.

Sometimes I want to fly away

sometimes I want to stay and drown.

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