Table of Contents - Vol. V, No. 4
The Great Blue Heron
I stand at the window, a shadow,
as the heron soars down from daylight
and lands in the lake, a statue.
Perfectly still with grey-blue feathers,
his stilts leave no ripples in the water;
the world remains undisturbed.
He stands ready with stoic patience,
waiting for movement in the shallows,
striding with careful placement
until his long, graceful neck darts down
and his chopstick beak captures a fish.
He soars off, a reflection,
only the fish and me
ever knowing of his existence
as he floats effortlessly on air
towards the shore.
© Michael Monroe