Heron

I saw a Heron today. He was flying, with fierceness. Fiercely flying. His head was tucked back into his shoulders, His wings were held in aggressive V’s. He was heading West off the lake at a 45 degree angle fast, furiously... driven by a purpose obviously large. I believed his purpose would be attainable, and hit with attack.
 
I have never seen a Heron with this particular character. One where I would assign it the anthropomorphic traits of a fighter pilot. I had only witnessed them, in states of calm and silence. Standing like saints, cloaked in ghostly blue, coming into my view, an apparition.  
 
Coming into my view, an apparition. Leaving my view fiercely.  
 
And then I began my day.  
 
As I drove on, my heart tugged. Pulled, thumped, beat so.. I could feel it into my neck. My face felt hot then drained of color, I’m sure. And then I breathed deeply and felt still again. I breathed very deeply, and was still again.  
 
Into my view, an apparition. And escapes again from my view.  
 
Escapes again from my view.  
 
There is logic, reason, and a season for it. And then there is the phantasm and its hold. There is delusion, madness and they have a place. Beside fury, perhaps. Behind purpose, most definitely.

And now it is the evening. The stars begin to collect. Lassoed by the moon. It pulls my shoulders, and releases them. Pulls and releases. Slow pull and release. Tempting me into dream. If it is a full night, a long one without movement, I might dream of a pale blue saint on a bank. If it is a restless one.. the fury of flight capable in a bird.