A hedge of heron
have congregated the island this early spring
Daily, I watch them launch and land
from my stationary vantage
on this side of the water.
On occasion they cross the span
to parade upon my sea wall,
a stately stalk.
For fish, perhaps,
or simply to bestow upon us
a gift of ungainly dignity.
Standing nearly tall as I
with wing-span wide as standing,
I had not imagined it likely
to find heron in the trees.
Yet watching across the wavelets,
the very least of what separates soaring avains
from entrenched humanity,
I find heron precariously perched
atop each loblolly pine
defying wind and physics with equal ease.
Is it for bragging rights they linger here?
Or merely a wider point of view?
I cannot know.
But when I stop to wonder that gravity
would allow such an unexpectedly elevated occupation
It awakens in me jealousy
at the freedom of heron to rest and enjoy
such spacious and lofty a perspective.