by Laura Parker Roerden
I have always thought rocks
uncommonly beautiful,
none the less
when I notice one along the river move:
a long neck
gracefully emerging
from the mottled
grey mound
now pointing towards the river.
It’s only in the refection
in the water that I realize
that what I have before me
is a Great Blue Heron.
No doubt he had seen me
long before I saw him.
Now standing
assuredly
on
one leg;
the heron seems to have
no need for the symmetry
on which we depend. He is stock-still
and completely ignoring me,
as if to underline my irrelevance
to this watery place.
I have come to the riverbank
craving inspiration,
but I feel completely inadequate
watching this master of
motionless patience, who is neither
too assured of his next meal
nor fully sated. He stands
in a space
that seems
to define
the narrow
middle
of peace,
assured a fish
will always rise
and offer itself in a
play of shadow and light capturing
imagination and intuition.
How does
he know
that the long spiny
bones swallowed whole,
once exposed will not harm him,
but rather nourish, as stomach acids
make edges supple?
I will not be present when he later
spits out the undigested
parts of feathers or skull,
now smooth on the forest floor
reflecting bits of moonlight
offering itself to others
as source.
The heron will not look at me;
I offer nothing
to him. So I take
what I have come to find
and leave the river
and its bend behind, thumbing
the silent stone
I have picked up that now weighs
like a promise in my pocket.
Laura Parker Roerden is the founding director of Ocean Matters and the former managing editor of Educators for Social Responsibility and New Designs for Youth Development. She serves on the boards of Women Working for Oceans (W20) and Earth, Ltd.
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