The Heron

Grey skies

Trees sag under the weight of humid heat

Breeze blows around the stink of waiting bins and stagnant water

Colors are dulled

But algae blooms toxic green

Shallow waters barely flow

Trudging over the bridge

Passed this way a thousand times

Nothing new

Then out of the corner of my eye, I see him

And the day is suddenly brighter

Pure white and soft grey

Standing proud and tall surveying his kingdom

The heron in the river.

Screenshot 2019-07-08 at 17.54.01

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s