Thousands of Stories

 I sat,

I did,

On the 

glacial rock

Scattered with 

Green lichen

The water

Three feet 

Down reflecting,

It did, 

The already

Blue morning

Sky scattered

With pillowy

Clouds of

White, cut, 

And this

I Know

For sure,  

By a 

Duck’s wake-

An acute 

Angle - as

My eyes

Capture the

Flight, I 

Swear, of 

A heron - 

Oh so 

Regal in 

Her wingspan!

The sound 

Of her 

Body moving 

Through the 

July air

Reminding me - 

Drop the 

Thousands of 

Stories. Smile, 

And be 

Right here.