Irradiance

11/18/20

Near the bridge this morning the Bufflehead floated closer than usual, so you saw the way he tightened his feathers before diving, his muscular push first forward, then down. Standing alone, you watched the water’s wind-serrated surface. It took a while. By the time he reappeared, 100 yards away, you couldn’t feel your hands. Now you hear the terrestrial grounding crunch of frozen grass underfoot. Looking up, you find a sickle moon, and see, or believe you see, the outline of its entirety. In the clear sky glows iridescence—planetary, constellatory, lunar, solo star. Animal, vegetable, mineral, gaseous. You see again his metallic green head topped by a white bandana, that subtle purple neck, his black and white body amid the surrounding swirling blacks and grays of the river, moving above you now, and below.