Birds

The Heron

For me, an early morning swim,

Gliding my lens towards the heron,

But for her, just breakfast time...

A wisp of feathers glides along Shenandoah,

As the whitewater below her talons blurs,

Searching for for food, or just enjoying the wind...

Take a break from wreaking havoc,

Settle the flock down to feed,

Have a fleeting peace in this commotion...

A corpse,

finding rest beneath the glass;

A martyr,

joining thousands of dead brethren;

A symbol,

proof against those who allow this to keep.

Read the story behind these two photos in this realted blog.

She cures the monotany that plagued his every day,

He takes her warmly into every cold night with a feathered serenade,

As they drift together endlessly across rainy shallows...

Shadows on the ceiling and fethers through the air,

A cacophony of beaded eyes and stretched talons keep watch in two manifestations,

A ruthless scavenger and the messenger of the unwanted depths...