Mighty Blue Heron
The snow descended, despite the sun's ray,
stripping the earth with wintry shadows,
shouldn't be I thought, the combination is wrong,
but December is a strange month...
perhaps Autumn overstayed and is resisting.
Entering the isolated few acre tidal nature center,
the wired butterfly enclosure, a deceased man's endowment,
was only bramble, herbal bushes, earlier frost reminder,
barely noticed, nothing's there except by viewers past.
The small shingled house, informational naturalist's residence,
bids welcome, come in, but a children lecture there,
crossed knees; listening on the wood museum like floors.
I precede instead, no greetings needed, on the matted grass lawn,
passing the algae skimmed pond, the decomposing debris.
Weathered floating vegetation, common ducks seen,
spotted whitened snowflake patches...
filming the stilled shallow placid deep green waters.
Then the raised rustic board wooden trail began,
a few feet above the tidal shore; mucky land of hollow reeds,
stumps and splintered tree trunks, accumulations of the past.
Each new step, insufficiently clad, breathing the chilled air,
when to turn around, how long will struggling last?
Then ahead, just above crossing the walkway's vegetation,
sky bound trajectory, the mighty blue heron soared,
disturbed most likely by me, in horizontal winged flight.
I, the intruder of these woods, freed momentarily,
fulfilled yet asking for more apportionment to be.
4th December 2003
Author: Roy Schoenberg, New York.