He lands softly across the lake,
his reflection rippling gently
in September waters,
then slowly begins to stalk his prey
in the shallows.
Wading in and out of the light,
under low lying branches
and past grassy slopes,
hunting for lunch
with silent, steady steps.
Boats thunder by, music blaring,
and yet he stands,
still as a sentry at the castle gate.
There is quiet in the air,
a waiting filled with anticipation.
We hold our breath and watch
as the blue heron rises.
– ljh 9/24/16