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



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