I can only begin to imagine
how utterly strange I must look
to the Great Blue Heron standing
in the wetland behind our home.
What must he make of this odd creature
with thick legs that seem
disproportionately short compared
to their bodies, why their necks
have such limited mobility, why
they cannot look behind themselves
or scratch their chins with their toes.
But the birds can passively accept all of that
as natures guiding hand gone astray
but nothing can begin to explain why
humans have no feathers on our misshapen
wings that only flap in conversation
and deny us the nature given gift of flight.
I know the Heron pities me as I watch
him lifting easily into a sundrenched sky
as I stand firmly affixed to the ground.