A siege of herons flaps ominously overhead,
beating their broad wings against the cloud-scraped canvass of the pewter-blue sky.
The primordial predators soar, scanning the clear waters below,
their delicate plumage belying the deadliness of their harpoon-like beaks, the patience of their wading.
The herons follow the winds in search of fecund hunting spots,
scouring the shallow ribbon of river for somewhere to spear prey.
Like the heron, we’re all guided by the vagaries of the winds
and the pressing urgency of our hunger, that inner pit of balled-up need.
Joseph S. Pete is a poet whose work has appeared in Poetry Potion and elsewhere.