He stands still
staring at
the ever changing
surface of the pond,
which he knows
holds infinite possibility
that he does
not wish to disturb,
lest the moment
be forever lost.
Nothing else
matters to him
as he calmly,
and ever so slowly,
lifts his leg
in tree pose,
and reaches out
with unfurled
wings to grasp
the breeze of
a perfect
heron morning.