The Great Blue Heron

The Great Blue Heron

Never lets me close enough

To take a good picture.

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This is one of many ways

We are kindred spirits.

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I also stalk the waters,

Ruminating on mysteries

Or my most recent meal.

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I also learned patience

The hard way,

Wading through muck.

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I also like to be alone,

And sometimes fly away,

Resenting unwanted intrusion.

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Does the majestic bird's heart

Beat for want of otherness

It can never assimilate?

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I will never know.

That's all for the better.

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The birds keep their secrets

Like the souls of the dead

Which they sometimes ferry

To the formless forevermore.

***** * *****

Commentary:

I live close enough to where I work that I can walk to and from when the weather permits. I take every opportunity, as it inspires tranquility, is an excellent source of exercise, and gives me time to think.

There is an industrial complex by my home with a couple ponds out front. I have encountered birds of all sorts there, from goldfinches, to hawks, to the ever-present, invasive, scatologically profuse Canadian goose.

But my favorite is the Great Blue Heron. I do not see it often, but when I do, it reminds me of my dearly departed father.

Dad used to work in a building in that complex. He would often remark that on his smoke breaks, he would see such a bird stalking the waters, snagging and gulping down fish.

My father passed away in 2020, but it was not long before his passing that he worked there. The lifespan of a Great Blue Heron is approximately fifteen years.

It is therefore possible that the Heron I encounter on my walks home could be the same one my father enjoyed watching on his smoke breaks.

I like to think so. It furnishes a connection between Dad and I that outlives the transitory state which separated us.

The final stanza of this poem is a reference to the bird as psychopomp.

As a writer, I hope to immortalize in words, ideas, and symbols that which life would otherwise render obsolete. I doubt the Great Blue Heron knows or cares, but I am nevertheless grateful for its timely interventions on my journey home. When it flies away, irritated despite my careful attempts not to intrude, I like to think it ferries its own spirit to a better place, and I move my feet in hope of doing the same.

***** * *****

More birds, Dad, and Mom: