Uncategorized Apr 10, 2019

Wading through the shifting tide,
  the frothy foam, cold at his feet,
preening his plumage, preoccupied,
  the egret snubs me when we meet. 

What canniness and elegance,
  what guile and caginess I sense;
so fluid and aloof are we,
  the bird, the watcher and the sea.

Liz McFadzean