the sky is bruised
with purpled patches,
gauze of white cotton
cloud strewn unsteadily
across the southern horizon.
many have come
with their beach chairs
and their expensive long lenses
to watch the herons
chase each other round
the naked winter nests
in the farthest branches.
i watch them watching
from the pipe bridge over
pregnant waters, the little islands
sunk beneath the brown and the rushing,
tree roots emerging from the current like
strange seabirds that reach
for the sky. from the squawk
on the other side of the river,
i know the herons aren’t
in the trees. they’ve found higher
ground among the shallows and
play their love games, as we do,
amid the rocks and the shadow.
the tenth muse 
Nice
thanks, George. 🙂
This is so lovely, filled with images that are wistful and beautiful and filled with truth.
I’m here because Joe posted a link on facebook. Really lovely, I’m glad I got to read it.
thanks and welcome, Mary. drop by any time! 🙂
Beautifully done.
the sky is bruised
with purpled patches,
gauze of white cotton
cloud strewn unsteadily
across the southern horizon. Oh, oh. Ambulance weather?
Loved this:
“i know the herons aren’t
in the trees. they’ve found higher
ground among the shallows and
play their love games, as we do,
amid the rocks and the shadow.”
I also like how you’re watching the others watching the herons in their love play – a delicate voyeurism, to be sure. Very well written.
delicate indeed. thanks.
as we do among the rocks and the shadow…excellent close to this…a great use of language too…the bruise of the sky is an evocative start to this…great imagery joanna
thanks, b.
Lovely piece–I love the last stanza–
The imagery is wonderful, and the closing stanza, well, that’s pretty great right there.
Nice write here.
You paint a beautiful scene in nature. I enjoy seeing herons. Right now we are enjoying egrets.
It’s as if you’ve given the reader binoculars to watch the unfolding naturalistic tableaux
Gorgeous write !
In May the babies will be fishing near the pipeline and you can get really close. You are always shooting into the light on the pipeline is the only downside.
Come to edge he said
No, we are afraid
Come to the edge, he said
They came
He pushed them
They flew
~Guillaume Apollinaire
This is simply wonderful…what a fantastic love poem.
My favorites are your opening and closing stanzas…love the imagery!
you set up some very peaceful images