Great Blue Heron
I drive past him each day in the swamp where he stands
on one leg, hunched as if dreaming of his own form
the surface reflects. Often I nearly forget to turn left,
buy fish and wine, be home in time to cook and chill.
Today the bird stays with me, as if I am moving through
the heron’s dream to share his sky or water—places
he will rise into on slow flapping wings or where
his long bill darts to catch unwary frogs. I’ve seen
his slate blue feathers lift him as dangling legs
fold back, I’ve seen him fly through the dying sun
and out again, entering night, entering my own sleep.
I only know this bird by a name we’ve wrapped him in,
and when I stand on my porch, fish in the broiler,
wine glass sweating against my palm, glint of sailboats
tacking home on dusky water, I try to imagine him
slowly descending to his nest, wise as he was
or ever will be, filling each moment with that moment’s
act or silence, and the evening folds itself around me.
-T. Alan Broughton
I’m looking forward to return to nice weather this week and getting out to shoot again. But in the meantime I am enjoying the chance to revisit older images and think about them in a more creative way. Out of about two dozed frames of Great Blue Herons in flight this is the only way that came out any where near in focus. But the bird was a little too close to the edge of the frame so I did a little Photoshop artistry and came up with this image that I really love for its simplicity.