Longlegs The Grey Heron

Earth Hart · #1 (**permalink**) 05-10-2006, 10:59 PM

Still, silent, watching, waiting & wondering
Where breakfast will come from, & what will it be.
Long legs stand reflected in the shallow pool,
The river's mirror surface rippled by a pair of jaws,
Taking a fly that strayed too near the trout
Lazing at the point between the worlds of air & water.
Heron moves like lightening, sharp long beak stabs down'
Trout for breakfast, tossed to get it facing forward'
Neck extended upwards, one big gulp & trout no more.

At rest now, one leg standing on longer watching, no hurry.
Caw of crow & suddenly the quiet is no more
Attacked by these pests the heron rises off the pool
And flies to another spot on the river that's peacful.
The willow cast a shadow over him, it's cool here,
A good place to snooze before the morning shift begins.
He has two young to feed that they are rearing
In the old oak on the wetland meadow by the weir
His long black plumes flutter in the morning breeze
As he dozes for a while under old man willow.

Sudden ripple draws his attention & his beak,
The morning shift has begun with roach on the menu
A few of these & heron's crop is full
Wigs beat air, he rises across the river homewards,
To the heronry & all the noise that comes from the nests.
He's welcomed by his mate, and the young with open beaks.
Soon they will be leaving the nest & be able to feed themselves.
Then there will be time to enjoy the rest of spring & summer,
Watching the young explore their new world with wonder,
Seeing them miss their fish & then the first one caught.
From first flight to first fish caught they grow & spread their wings.
Then, thought heron, there'll be peace &quiet until next year,
When it all begins again with hopefully another brood to rear to fledging.

I wrote this for an infant school class in Brighton, after watching with them, the herons on the Cuckmere.