Quality of Light

[summer_jackel]

Great egret standing at the far side of the reservoir
at the end of summer
and the light is just so:
to limn reeds and water and the bird's
white, loose feathers
with shimmering gold.

The egret lifts; our dogs are playing.
I wish him farewell in time for him to light
in a fir tree not far from us
and preen.
Casual in his loveliness, this gilded
limber-necked, sharp-faced, slightly awkward bird.

In summer, California's hills are loose, tawny shoulders;
here, the bluffs on the ridges are silver and windswept,
sun and still, lightbound.
And yesterday, at a dog show,
transcending all its human ordinariness
for just this moment,
two blond saluki lope in halos poured them by the rising sun.

We work through these long summers of day
that we might survive the coming cold, we beasts.
Survive the cold, the dying and the birthing times
to win the privilege of doing it again.
And why?
Every year grows harder; every season takes its toll
takes a little piece of what we were.
And still, we do it---
For the quality of light
flashing through a kite's wings as she stoops
on an August morning.