Crafting a memory, October 1
The grey heron flying by, calling out in its rough voice. Stop texting. See me.
I startle. I’ve never heard it speak before. Not aloud, anyway.
Dapples of black on a spread of grey wings as it drops into the grasses.
Busy already, back to hunting.
Will you be my friend? I’ve asked it with childlike delight every time it has leaped away from me into the air on my regular walks. I’m not a scientist who fears anthropomorphizing other creatures. I don’t mind if people think I’m a little bit ridiculous. I know my heart can speak to a bird’s heart.
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