The Great Blue Heron

Soaring peacefully on a current of air,
Ten feet or so above the water,
His neck folded back,
The Great Blue Heron landed gracefully
On a sandbar
Then gave a hoarse, throaty squawk
As if to announce his entrance
To anything or anyone who might be interested.
This gangly wader sauntered cautiously along,
Slowly lifting one spindly leg then the other,
While keeping a sharp eye out for prey
In the muddied waters.
For a short time he stood still as a statue,
Snatched a frog with his spear-like beak
And gulped it down,
Then continued another stretch as watchman,
Awaiting further nourishment.
At his proudest moment,
He stood perfectly erect:
Legs straight, the rest of his body diagonal
— almost vertical—
Tail pointed downward, neck flowing,
And his majestic head lifted skyward.
His only recourse to making himself taller
Was to pirouette like a ballet dancer.
At one point he ventured into the shallows,
To the bend of his bony legs,
Looking for another victim.
It was then that I laughed to myself
As I observed the way his legs bent in back
Like that of a dog's hind legs.
Slowly, he worked his way upriver
To one of its smaller tributaries,
Disregarding all the noisy cars
With their glass-packed mufflers,
Screeching tires, and blaring radios.
He was accustomed to hearing these sounds,
So they didn't distract him in the least.
As he moseyed along,
The sun peeked from behind a large cloud,
Causing the feathers on his back
To shine like a new silver dollar.
Suddenly, he flapped his Great-Blue-Heron wings,
And I wondered if he would take flight.
My curiosity was soon satisfied.
The heron lifted himself off the ground,
Gliding to the other side of the narrow tributary,
Where it merged with the river.
Once securely planted on the other side,
He began to blend with his natural environment,
Disappeared altogether from view,
And that was the last I saw of him.

All Rights Reserved © 2009 by David Lee Thompson