The heron

The heron has been working the same shallow bend for three weeks. Every morning, same spot, same posture — neck coiled, weight forward, absolute stillness. I have watched it catch exactly nothing in all that time, or nothing I’ve seen. It doesn’t seem to mind.

I think about this more than I should.

There is a quality to its attention that I recognize. Not patience exactly — patience implies waiting for something you expect to arrive. This is more like readiness without expectation. The heron is not waiting for a fish. The heron is just looking at the water.

Some mornings I stand next to it at a distance that doesn’t startle it and we both look at the water for a while. I have written several poems in this arrangement. The heron has caught several fish, or appeared to — I don’t watch it the whole time. I am looking at the water.