Heron

Heron
swoops in
before me,
wings rustling
the wind.
Light footsteps
barely brush
fertile earth.
Feathers fluff,
eyes take in all.
A quiet, gentle
spirit is.
Then beak jabs
soft ground –
some small snake
captured.
Heron shakes
and shakes
his head
to effect
sure death.
A good meal
on a clear day.