Heron Poem by Conor Dowd

Heron
stands rigid like an old old man,
grey and white,
deliberate and
bowed slightly as I begin
to edge a little closer.

The sky has split asunder
and rain pours down upon him
Undaunted under breaking sky he waits
copper-fastened to a rock.

Holding himself to himself,
in solitary confidence,
with eyes distrusting,
wings gathered to erupt
in sudden flight.

Almost overwhelming,
little monolith of gray,
somehow reassuring by just being there.

But I lose him in the mist as rain descends
and twists this shoreline out of shape...

And his exit speaks to me of certain things -
like patience and the calm that silence brings.