The Heron

"As though one's childhood were a small midwestern town
Some forty years ago, before the elm trees died.
September was a modem classroom and the latest cars,
That made a sort of futuristic dream, circa 1955.
The earth was still uncircled. You could set your course
On the day after tomorrow. And children fell asleep
To the lullaby of people murmuring softly in the kitchen,
While a breeze rustled the pages of Life magazine,
And the wicker chairs stood empty on the screened-in porch."

from From the Porch
by John Koethe

The Friday before last, we had family over in the evening. We were sitting on the screened-in porch when a young blue heron, the first we have seen on the slough this summer appeared. It fished directly below us and in the course of 1 or 2 hours in an  area few metres square it caught at least four possibly more Tiger Salamanders. We are lucky to see one a year, often crossing a grid road, so we were amazed at the profusion, much less the size of the animals it found in such a small area. Needless to say the heron has returned on a number of evenings, but I am unsure if it's luck is holding.

"And even as it deepens something turns away,

As though the day were the reflection of a purer day

In which the summer's measures never ended.

The eye that seeks it fills the universe with shapes,

A fabulist, an inquisitor of space

Removed from life by dreams of something other than this life,

Distracted by the bare idea of heaven,"

from Gil's Cafe

by John Koethe