The Blue Heron

12 Sep

Two days ago I was running on the road alongside Flat Rock when I observed my favorite blue heron poised on a long rock in the middle of the creek.

Here is a poem I wrote after another experience with the heron:

Flat Rock

 

Flat Rock

where I learned to float

and drift down the currents–

down and down

until the drop off

and then walked back again,

trying not to slip

on the algae-covered stone. I

reached the starting off point

and then maneuvered and streamlined

my body, hands at the side

to receive the current, once more.

When I

walk next to Flat Rock now,

I feel as though suspended o’er

the water but not of it. Where I was

once a sylph immersed in a fast-moving creek,

I find myself detached and hovering.

I’ve lost

the gift to find the beat of nature’s pulse,

condemned to observe

the heron poised for flight

on that flat stone and to remember

how I felt.

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