A Gusty, Chill Wind But The Egret Forages On…
(A poem about Blakeney, Norfolk…)
Late afternoon and a strong wind vented its anger
Around Blakeney’s historic creeks and corners, orchestrating
Idle sailboats into a cacophony of percussion,
Whipping their taut ropes against erect masts, clinking
A rhythm for the instrumental gale’s hissing and blowing.
Early evening and a single egret foraged, its hunger
To sate, lurking on creek mud, demonstrating
A sullen patience, as it hunted a crustacean,
A small fish, or an insect, indignantly walking
With black-billed frown, its sleek white feathers glowing…
Pete Ray
27th September 2024…
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