The Heron

THE HERON
 
The heron stands in water where the swamp
Has deepened to the blackness of a pool,
Or balances with one leg on a hump
Of marsh grass heaped above a musk-rat hole.

He walks the shallow with an antic grace.
The great feet break the ridges of the sand,
The long eye notes the minnow's hiding place.
His beak is quicker than a human hand.

He jerks a frog across his bony lip,
Then points his heavy bill above the wood.
The wide wings flap but once to lift him up.
A single ripple starts from where he stood.

Theodore Roethke (1908-1963)

Feeling very rusty (probably from being in either the ocean or the pool for a week!) and out of shape, I hitched up the bike trailer and Moira and I went for a long bike ride to the park. After wearing her out on the playground, she sat quietly in the trailer having a snack. This gave me the opportunity to get the camera out, sit by the pond and enjoy watching the Herons. They are such beautiful birds! Hope you enjoyed the poem.