Lindsay L. O'Connor

Lessons from a Cormorant

I’ve been taking lessons
from a cormorant
at the creek near my house.
Driven by her hunger,
she dives deep, deep,
below the surface.
Today I saw her standing
for a long, long time,
wings outstretched,
and I wondered why she would do
this vulnerable thing.
She seemed to be drying her wings,
but that seemed absurd to me—
a waterfowl whose wings
get waterlogged?
I learned that that is exactly
what is happening.
The reason her wings aren’t as water repellant
as those of ducks and geese
is that they must become quite soaked
or else the air bubbles would prevent her
from delving as deeply as she wants—needs—
to go to satiate her appetite.
So she allows herself to become waterlogged
because of her appetite
for that which can only be found
far below the surface.
Then, when she is satisfied,
she stands above the surface
and expands,
stretching her wings to dry
because it’s too cumbersome to fly
with water-soaked wings.
Today, I feel like the cormorant.
We are both attempting to dry our wings
in 93% humidity.
Not every day
is a flying day.