Blue Heron

A blue heron stands over the water
On one of the rough blocks of cement
That were left to hold back the shoreline.
It is late in the afternoon
And he is hunched over, intent on his work
And perfectly still
Except where a slight movement of air
Ruffles the small feathers along his neck.

My steps have intruded on the silence,
And the heron shifts anxiously.
Like any craftsman at his work
He is impatient to be left alone.
I understand and walk on without a word
But with a friendly nod
Since we are of the same trade,
Endlessly scanning dull waters
For what is bright and hidden.

Jack Hickman lives in Alameda, California with his wife, Ann, and a black cat named Della. He is a graduate of Calvin College, and after many years in retail has spent the last decade as a substitute teacher with the Oakland Unified School District. He has a poem coming out in the August 2017 edition of Perspectives.


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