The Heron

The Cumulative Heron - Veronica Patterson

In the fog, she hears the heron?s croak,
the ship?s horn,
some third sound.

Her maiden name begins with an S
not unlike the heron?s neck, curves she hides
in her signature.

Through binoculars is not the same heron
from the fishing boat,
from beneath the surface.

When they married, neither had seen
a great blue heron or they didn?t know they had
among other things.

She studied eloquence.
Now she puts stones in her mouth
to make a shore.

The heron walking like bamboo
is the heron hunkered in rain
is the ancient arrow.

As she drives home from the house of a dying friend
a heron flies obliquely across the road,
its shoulders hunched.

Of the 10,000 winds,
none troubles a feather
of the heron?s ruff.

She reads many poems in which
there are herons. When she looks up, a silence
rests most of its weight on one dark leg.


Second try at capturing the Heron, it's still too far away, will keep on trying.
Second and last day of the strike today. No pickets outside the office.

I was sent to one of the Community Living houses to assist with support for the three ladies that live there.
A good day, took one lady and and helped her choose and buy a new coat and bought some arts and craft material as she wants to make her own birthday cards.

Off now till Monday and got to go to the eye clinic tomorrow to have tests on my eye, one pupil is larger than the other and doesn't react to light. I seem to be slowly falling to pieces.

Hope Thursday has been a good one

one year ago
swans on the Flowey