At the pond by the condominiums,

the great blue heron

stalks the shallow water,

slow, lugubrious dance

almost beautiful.

Head speared for fish,

disturbing his own reflection,

he hunts along the edges.

One day, he stood, perfectly still,

as if at prayer,

then broke and flew

toward his endless

blue freedom.

A flock of them in flight

astonished Henry and his brother

as they prepared the raft

for their journey home,

strange, fierce wind behind them,

world changed to autumn overnight.

“Now comes good sailing,”

Henry said, death near,

as his sister read to him

his own words about that morning.