The Egret

by Mary Padilla 

There was an egret by the pond today.

Violets were appearing now on the verges of the wood.

It flew off to the shallows a bit further along the bank

when I came to sit on the cliff at the overlook.

Puffs of flowers in the trees were casting patchy shadows,

but there were no leaves yet.

It stood by the bank, utterly still.

Spring was still spare,

deceptively simple,

re-contextualizing.

A little later it had moved further along

somehow without ever moving,

utterly calm

but alert,

poised,

hunting.

Then it was further yet -

but still immobile,

coming from a deep place.

Why do flowers come back

when people don’t?

 Since coming to the LP2 several years ago, Mary has been trying new things, like applying the economy of the poetic form to expressing what can be more felt than understood.