Daily Warfare

Every day, this aerial invader comes into the garden after the fish in my pond.  Herons are beautiful, elegant birds - out in the rest of the countryside where they belong.  In my garden, however, the daily visit becomes a battle of wits.

Heron

Daily at dawn and at dusk,

His ghostly glide-path,

Takes him down to his target.

A stealthy attacker,

Coming in from the blue beyond,

A large shadow in the sky,

Darkening the surface of the pond.

There he sits patiently waiting,

An expert fisherman on the bank:

A huge, hungry bird,

With an eye glinting and greedy,

Wondering which ones he can get,

From among the frightened fish,

Swirling in panic just under the net.

It’s a battle to survive, a battle to eat,

And a battle to feed the young in the nest,

Which forms his hunting attitude.

The koi and the carp, the orfe and the comets,

And the lovely shimmering Shubunkins

Are my ornamentals, but to him are just food.

It’s a battle of wits between us:

Ever-watching, ever-vigilant,

Neither of us will give any quarter,

In the struggle to be the one,

Left last to be staring down into the water.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012