Ptarmigan
Snow chickens dust the high moors.
White partridges grounded by rain
crouch and huddle
burrow into the gorse
then as if forgetting the storm
heave up into the wet air
just a little way
cluck, bluster, and rattle,
only then to settle back
scolding and flustered
as only termagant ptarmigan
can.
Binoculars tight to eyes,
soaked, ankle deep in mud -
chilled to the bone.
Highland cattle
stare back blankly
as if I were another
silent P.
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