Today, a friend sent me some photographs her son had taken. Among them was a shot of a great blue heron in a winter stream, which she correctly assumed I would be pleased to see.
Update: Here is the photo. Poem is below.
A great blue heron wades through water
congealing in late January.
Beside the stream, thin brown stems of marsh
grasses stubble the snow crusted by
freezing rain. A light wind briefly stirs
the feathers of its second winter
plumage, long and narrow, now straggled,
unkempt, on back and breast. As always,
the head and tapered, twisting, quick-twitch
column of the neck form a fluid
question while the eye, yellow as ever,
scans for what lies below the surface.