Jokes about penguins

We walk into the glen,
not knowing how far

The path is good, but in the air are drops of rain,
which we mistake for midges

Nothing bites:
the hills of Harris rise up
on both sides, and we look hard at them,
hoping for the holiness
of golden eagles

set apart,
somehow free

We cross the bridge and sit in the hide,
waiting patiently, which is hard for us

We prefer highlights
and instant replay, but
the sky is empty

In the end we head back to the road:
just after the bridge,
joking about the lack of penguins, we see

sudden shapes in the sky
and rush to focus

There is no doubt:
three eagles play
in the unreachable air

Glued to the ground,
we stand in awe,
grateful for this grace,
this unearned revelation.
this resurrection of our hopes,

amazed that there was no prayer involved at all,
just jokes about penguins

Of course, jokes about penguins
are prayers too



This poem was written after a holiday in the Outer Hebrides, and a glimpse of golden eagles after we had almost given up looking. Of course, you never give up looking. Do you?