With each deft movement
They glide effortlessly through time
Old as the trees they wander past
Each scale glimmering, glittering
Unblinking eyes ever watchful
Photographer: Roger Sanderson
Black and white and gold and orange
Sometimes a mixture of all
With hints of unearthly splendor
Behind each iridescent scale
Each sleepy movement of a tail
Whisks them forward lazily
Until at once, from some unseen disturbance
They fly from sight with great speed
Each pattern in sunlight glows
And in clouds they shine alone
Fluid, graceful, flexible, effortless
Unhurried yet purposeful
Each gossamer fin in quiet repose
Until a flick of the wrist drives them
To some new direction
A gaping maw breaks the surface
The greatest one has come to visit me
An old friend and trusting gaze
With patient eyes, watches
I stroke the slippery nose carefully,
My fingers slip and my nail pokes the sensitive snout
I apologize, but the trust is damaged
And my visitor glides away
I wait, as patient as I can be,
But they are old, and trust heals slowly
At last, returning, cautiously this time
My fingers are still and extended
The soft heart bumps them with a velvet nose
And nibbles my fingertips with toothless affection
Peaceful here in the place between
Lush Springtime and the lingering Winter
I sit in quiet awe of them
Beneath a soft grey sky
And in the bitter winds
I envy them their peaceful home
It is no wonder the Eastern World
Believed in Dragons, for here they are
In a myriad of colors, patterns, sizes
Serene and wise
Impetuous and bold, the younger ones,
But always graceful and liquid in motion
I, bent and crooked, accident-prone,
Watch them with approving respect
Wanting to be like them
The Dragons of the Water
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