Seldom seen, rarely heard, near Chemainus
there lives a bird said by the natives
to be nocturnal, very lovely when observed.
But sightings few and far between give
rise to rumours undeserved that the wily
Snype undocumented cannot be real, must
be invented.
So just for the record let me say, I
think I saw one yesterday. Out on the
marshes, between the reeds, not far from
where the heron feeds, a movement across
my vision blurred and I glanced where I
saw something stirring, a flash of red
and brown was whirring. Right before
my eyes this bird, not seen in any skies,
drumming strong and strumming long its
dance amid strange goings on.
And then it came to me - last summer,
near the ferns above the river - heard
one night while I was humming, this same
drumming, the self-same strumming. Now
displayed without disguise, this bird
before my very eyes, its plumes arrayed in
radiant glory telling me its untold story...
long ago in times of old those wings once
flew its glory - big, strong, and bold.
Gigantic flocks obscured the sun but now
it hides because it's sorry. Something
happened long ago but what it was, I
still don't know.
Bobbing its head as though in fright,
bowing and turning left then right, low
to the ground, its eyes downcast, tail
feathers tall, erect and trusty, bright
with colours looking somewhat rusty,
this dancing bird said something funny
while something else smelled, old and
musty.
Entranced I watched - mesmerized - and
in a moment, hypnotized. The next
second I awoke and thought I'd heard
a bird that spoke, but to this day
I can't recall if there was anything
it said at all. They think this bird
is mute and does not fly, more research
will be needed to discover why.
Rojan Zét
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