POEM: Watching an eagle ‘swoop and soar’ in summer

July 1, 2026

By David Jolly

Avery and the Eagle

On a brilliant blue summer morning

I sail my bike

down the hill

to the pond

seven miles long but not

deep enough in Maine

to be a lake.

Back pain in check

I try to stack my spine

on a pelvis tipped forward,

a position the chiropractor says

makes sitting easier.

Even for a round-shouldered natural slumper?

Alone on a rock,

I dangle my feet in clear water.

Then I am joined by Avery –

A-V-E-R-Y he announces.

He is eight, arrives on a motor scooter,

Harley helmet on his blonde head,

stays long enough to point out

the bald eagle

he spots easily

in the northern sky

and takes off.

I remain,

watch the eagle

swoop and soar

but mainly glide

on outstretched wings

barely flapped

twice in five minutes.

Oh, to ride the currents

with such ease and grace,

so little energy expended,

warmed by sun

glinting off tail and wing.

Oh, eagle, of thee I sing

in wonder

and wonder why

it is so hard

to do the easy thing.

— Jolly is a poet based in Penobscot.

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