At low tide and sunrise
My friend, the egret,
Each day wades in the shallows,
The tides permitting.

On long legs he seeks and waits the moon’s pull,
Twists his neck from side to side.
What he thinks, what passes before and through his eyes,
While he watches and waits,
I know not.

Each day he appears alone
And patiently lingers to sup.
His hours vary.
Why he tarries,
Who can know?

Perhaps it is not by sunlight,
Nor by custom,
But by the tide’s time he takes his cue
To bow and dig and eat.

Though long necked and legged,
And though hungry,
He cannot go beyond his depth or reach,
But waits the heaven’s dance
And the consequence of celestial attractions.

As the waters run past and through his legs,
I see the sea current paint its patterns behind him,
An afterthought of silver blue twirls and swirls of light,
Beauties and mysteries beyond both our kens.

He waits alone, no friend or mate.
Each day his vigil keeps.
Each day his duty done.
Each day complete.

He is an egret
And egrets were born to wait.

Elliott Tepper 12-2013