I’d wanted to write
about night herons
and their delight in the lowest tides
their thankless patience
their red eyes and startling cries in the gloom of night
or the careful scrutiny of a gull’s eye
under the august sun
as the tide goes out
and sanderling plunder the wrack-line at my feet
instead there’s the moon rising, lopsided and yellow
the promise of a little prince, enjoyed together
this deliberate probing of a heart’s memory
and the shared revelation
of a whimbrel’s decurved bill.
Laura, I’m not commenting often but I read your every post. I love this poem. And, that picture . . . wowza!
Liza,
Hi and thanks!
For all the cursing I do at this lens… every so often it surprises me…
I LOVE the wind I caught at the back of its’ head… isn’t that sweet?
; )
Such a beautiful photograph! And, a very fine poem too!
Great poem Laura. Also awesome picture. Brian
Beautiful.
A grand keeper!