That’s what I started out with, but then I sat looking over a little pond, thinking I might be painting or sketch-booking or something. Instead I fished my binoculars out of the trunk and sat watching a pair of blue herons building a big nest way up in a tree. There were lots of smaller birds and a handful of canadian geese too.

A heron slides past,
into the pines, some miracle
slicing air between branches
He returns, stick
held out enticing
Taking, she places,
he rearranges,
another gift and another
careful chosen, flown,
offered and offered up
shaggy plumage shifting
She leans her curves
against his solidity
above the growing nest
waiting patiently each time
for the return, the gift,
the hopeful placement
the careful adjustment
the inevitable eggs
the unstoppable departures.

There was some serious lopping after writing that one, hey it happens. All you people and you know who you are who ask – does it need that ‘the’ – can smile now.