Wednesday, June 6, 2012
--Lake Salamonie, Wabash, Indiana
Hieratic, the heron paces the shallows
like a serious pastor with hands folded
against his spine, meditating the lessons
of small fish, the choreography of frogs,
and at my approach flaps from the water’s edge,
a poor construct of scrap board and paper
rigged with wire and pulled slapdash
into the wind, fighting for a moment
the weight of earth, heft of body, but rising,
easing now into grace between the wings.
I ask him disappearing to pray for us,
and turn, having tired of the wind.
The heron sways away across the lake
into the late sun on this day of clouds and rain.