25 Monday Mar 2013
Posted in folklore, Poetry, Storytelling
Tags
cherokee, connection, destiny, dreams, fearless, grace, life, living, love, nature, reason, restless, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, wonder
. . .
silver blue stems
merge with the shadows
of twisted white branches
morning decides
the flight of the heron
from dust recreated
as places mistook
when he shifted
to light
. . .
Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic
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tornadoday 
Looks like one of the mangrove & cypress swamps I used to fish in while we lived in Florida. I think it’s the same heron. ~xo~
Paul
It could be. Those things live a long time. They are a favorite for watching when I’m at the beach. If you find a fisherman, you’ll almost always find a heron within five feet. I think they watch the line closer than the fisherman. 🙂 Thank you. ~ Love, Bobbie
They’re not watching the line. They’re hoping you’ll give them some of the minnows from your bait bucket…, or a fish you caught that’s too small to keep.
It’s the later…….. Those minnows wouldn’t satisfy anything…….
this is so intensely done! love the air of the scene here!