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I stop when I see it standing there,
smoky blue in low waters, a bird
Modigliani might have invented.
Without thinking, I take on its stillness.
My breathing slows, focus sharpens.
Is it telepathy that shapes me,
for a moment, in this bird's image?
And then it leaps into flight, its wings
too large to believe. Unnerving,
its sudden change from slender statue
to menacing motion, to a density
and darkness that makes the pale sky
seem a paltry thing. And though I am
earthbound, clumsy and plain,
something hushed and unsullied
stirs within me. I feel it, the belief
that we can rise above the weight
of our mistakes, that any of us can be,
if only briefly, large against the sky.
I look toward the island in this pond,
where a birch tree leans over water.
On an extended branch the heron lands,
becomes another limb set against
evening sky. Like smoke, that bird
transformed itself and I am trying to believe it,
that we can do it too, and that a place
of safety waits for each of us,
white branch hanging over water.
This poem first appeared in Everybody Says Hello (Grayson Books, 2009)
Used here with the author's permission.
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Ginny Lowe Connors is a retired English teacher and the author of four full-length poetry collections and a chapbook, Under the Porch, which won the Sunken Garden Poetry Prize. She runs a small poetry press, Grayson Books, and is co-editor of Connecticut River Review. Ginny has also edited a number of poetry anthologies, including Forgotten Women: A Tribute in Poetry. Learn more about her at www.ginnyloweconnors.com.

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pwax:
Lovely. I've seen one, too, and you capture the image and the feeling.
Posted 06/02/2025 04:41 PM
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Lori Levy:
Beautiful images.
Posted 06/02/2025 01:07 PM
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wayne.goodling@yahoo.com:
Your writing pulled me into the scene and the bits of encouragement you included gave me a good feeling. Thank you
Posted 06/02/2025 10:20 AM
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Darrell Arnold:
For a long period of my life, I took my dogs on a walk around a nearby lake, and more times than not, I was blessed with seeing a Great Blue Heron, either standing on the shore waiting for a fish to swim within range or else elegantly winging its way across the lake to another part of the shore or else a perch high in a nearby tree. Finally, on one terrific morning, I actually was blessed to see that great bird strike into the water and come up with a fairly large, wriggling trout. Ever so patiently, he flipped it into the air several times until he had the fish's head pointed toward his throat. And then he swallowed that lump of fish down his lovely, long neck. I thanked God for allowing me to witness that special moment, a basic survival moment. Thank you Ginny for eloquently reviving those memories.
Posted 06/02/2025 08:52 AM
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EstherJ:
Powerful imagery and deep concepts in this one. Great read.
Posted 06/02/2025 08:25 AM
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