My friend Joan came to visit and left a copy of Mary Oliver's What Do We Know: Poems and Prose Poems for me to enjoy. If you click on that link, you can read a selection, from Google books. But this morning, as we watch our (blue, not white) herons and the sunning anhinga across the canal, I found this, from "Summer Poem."
...the white heron
like a dropped cloud,
taking one slow step
then standing while then taking
another, writing
her own soft-footed poem
through still waters.
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