Fishing for Dinner
The heron flew in from out along the treeline,
looking like some pterodactyl with its long neck
and sprawling wings. She touched down on the creek bed,
a gentle landing, ballerina of the sky.
Once, she led me home in a snowstorm -- a whiteout
the dog and I couldn't quite navigate. Forest friend.
I don't know why she was created this way,
the giant wing span, the S-shaped neck, the stilts
for legs. But I think: God had a hand in that.
Intelligent design. How else to explain it?
She flaps her mighty wings and moves along
down the creek. Fishing the waters. Fishing for dinner.
*****
Poem by,
Ann E. Diviney
Comments
Post a Comment