The Heron

Standing at the edge of the pond,
A heron gazes into the distance.
Its back to me,
Buffering the frosty wind.
Its eyes deep black pools,
As never-ending as the stars.
I sneak a picture of this spectacle,
A freshwater, coastal beauty,
Resting on the edge of a manmade pond
In New Jersey.

Where have you come from and,
Where are you going?

Non-swimming, little egret,
Feeding on the margins,
Sitting still, so very still,
Waiting for the fish to come to you.
A steady pace beyond us walkers,
Trying to get in a mile
On our thirty minute lunch break.
We are as solitary as you are.

Where is your family?
Where are your children?

Waiting for your return,
Beaks turned upright and screaming
In need, for food, for safety,
For guidance.
I leave you in peace to carry out your work,
To fulfill your role as the breadwinner
And I walk back to work, smiling.
We are not so different after all.

I am the heron and the heron is me.