The Flight of the Purple Martins

The purple martin had been circling for about ten minutes.

This was their opportunity for a better class of nourishment.

The male knew there were some small minnows below the rippling waves.

His objective was to glide, just far enough above the water,

and strategically out of sight from any of these fishes.

He could dart straight down on any unsuspecting minnow,

But he'd need timing, as not to alert any of the others, within the school.

This had been an excellent change from any mosquitoes or deer flies,

which was what he had been accustomed. Bugs were terribly elusive.

But with the dusk light was fading, he was losing sight of his meal.

The red part of the summer sky now shone, to his disadvantage.

But, it was just enough for him to catch odd shadows beneath the waves.

His first instinct was to attack one shadow, and hope that it wasn’t in vain.

After a second, those shadows were multiplying, and becoming larger.

The minnows were being replaced by the bass predators.

And the longer the male hovered, the worse it was to tell rock from fish.

Fortunately, the martin was close to shore.

And he could inform his mate of his findings, and they could act as a team.

The martin tilted and spread his wings, as he soared to a nearby birch tree.

About halfway up the tree his mate was perched. She expected him.

His outstretched wings fluttered to slow his landing,

and he grabbed the same branch with his talons.

The sunlight was decreasing, and he knew that she wanted her daily meal.

He was balanced. He retracted his wings, and begun chirping excitedly.

The female had not eaten for about a day, and she would need food.

Soon, the tiny eggs would hatch and there would be more mouths to feed.

She quickly responded to his cries as a sign of his findings.

Her chirps interrogated him, and he was irritated, but focused.

He leapt from his perch soaring into flight to the calm lake,

and she followed him close behind, wings spread.

They flew along the shoreline of the cottages in synchronicity, a dance.

They narrowly escaped as they swooped under and around the docks.

The wind had been gentle mistress to their flight.

It carried them gracefully to a nearby marsh into the blue heron territory,

where they ate together plentifully and playfully.

This is how the Purple Martins feed themselves at my home,

on Lake Scugog.