One Little Gray Heron
scuttled across the road. I stopped
to watch his wondrous waddled progression
as he raced to catch up with his family,
already halfway down the third green
of the back-road golf course. Mother and mix
of feathered fledglings were determined
to reach the water hazard and its bevy
of breakfast potential. Sounding off in head
count, the snowy matron realized her young
one was lagging, turned the others in halt, waited
for the tiniest tot to tear through the distance.
I laughed as protective instinct drove her
to keep him in front of her the rest of the way.