What I see of it
in the shadows beneath the
pier, the white of the
egret is whiter
than the August sun. It steps
and turns, steps and turns.
Seeing this mortal
elegant being in its
reserve is a gift.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Author: Tom D'Evelyn
Tom D'Evelyn is a private editor and writing tutor in Cranston RI and, thanks to the web, across the US and in the UK. He can be reached at tom.develyn@comcast.net. D'Evelyn has a PhD in Comparative Literature from UC Berkeley. Before retiring he held positions at The Christian Science Monitor, Harvard University Press, Boston University and Brown University. He ran a literary agency for ten years, publishing books by Leonard Nathan and Arthur Quinn, among others. Before moving to Portland OR he was managing editor at Single Island Press, Portsmouth NH. He blogs at http://tdevelyn.com and other sites.
View all posts by Tom D'Evelyn
I can see the startling whiteness of that bird, Tom : it is indeed a gift. So are these lines from you.
LikeLike