I have no idea

How I happened to be on the cliffs

Of a North Shore park that day.

Perhaps a bolt from the busy shop

On my trusty moped

With a thermos of tea and a sandwich,

Needing rocks and waves for sanity.

Nobody else was there.

Sun and sea were mine.

When I chucked my waste into the bin

I glanced up.

Islanders look at the sky a lot.

There's so much of it!

 

A huge, dark bird, wings like a giant scythe,

Was flying overhead.

It spiralled upwards in perfect circles

Riding air currents

With unerring centre point.

I was struck by its beauty, its power.

Up and up it soared, smaller and smaller

Until - just a dot - it vanished.

And I breathed again.

 

That evening the weatherman said,

'A frigate bird was spotted at Spittal Pond today.

A rare sight indeed.

Apparently, it 'touched down' from its ocean flight.

Nobody quite knows why.'

He beamed from the screen, pleased with his story.

I covered a smile with my fingers

And whispered into my palm,

'Ahhhh. I know why.'