Peregrine, Headlands, October 1

I thought it would be good to see a peregrine
This being fall and me aimless
Shall I walk the beach, or the woods?
Out here, the wind tears at my clothes
Diffident, no desire in its hands.
I plod across the muddy flat
There's no salt in the air
No bouquet to this inland sea.
This is where I chose to live.
I can’t fault the waves, low and spiritless,
or wish they would rise and curl over,
sharks knifing in the aquamarine.
This is Ohio. This is the landscape at hand.
I look up and scan the brightness
And she comes, beating hard from the west
Circles low over me.
Her back is gunmetal
Her mustache looks good on her.
She beats her way to the lighthouse.
I’d walk an hour to cover what she just flew.
I'm no more to her than a bit of flotsam, a log on the mud
Registered and just as swiftly forgotten.
She heads east
White sand and curling waves
Closer with every stroke of her wings.
For Jen