The Heron

his one is quite an old piece, having written it one Summer after a long walk around the local nature reserve, desperately searching for inspiration.

The White heron stands in the shadows of the sun,

his posture is strong, solid, still as he stands powerful at the waters edge

the air wildly intense;

he’s waiting…

his sleek, silver feathers glisten in the rays as they dance off the waters surface,

his beak is sharp and ready;

he’s waiting…

his eyes like darting arrows, carefully analyse the silky ripples as they crawl timidly closer,

But the heron does not move;

this valiant master of patience stands dauntless - dominant - determined.

he’s waiting…

Behind the tranquil eyes of might, he calculates his move,

and without a seconds warning;

his movement is soundless, his actions are quick,

and with a simple swoop; it’s done.

the White heron stands in the shadows of the sun,

his posture is strong, solid, still as he stands powerful at the waters edge

Waiting…