THE GREAT BLUE HERON

Standing knee-deep at the edge of the lake
the lone blue heron watched me walking by.
His neck was curved, his long dagger-like beak
pointed downward, his onyx eye fixed on me.
"How long it takes you to pass!" he exclaimed with a sigh.

Doubting I had heard the heron speak,
I continued on the pedestrian path, not breaking my stride.
Then a voice both male and female called out,
"Men are such slow, ungainly creatures . . .
I pity you, poor plodding human . . .
You are earthbound,
made to walk graceless upon the ground
and never soar through the heavens
on long-feathered wings such as mine."

I halted in amazement that it was the heron
who had spoken. Yet taken aback by his insolence,
my spirit aroused by the harshness of his words,
I was about to answer with a piece of pedantry,
to toss him some stale handful of gibberish,
when my heart opened and the words
"Forgive me!" came forth from my mouth.