In the pond the geese chase the heron
as if demanding—get away from us!
you are too beautiful!
The heron stands alone
in the middle of the mucky water
observing his surroundings, turning
the long periscope that is his neck
away from him
geese congregate like noisy children at recess.
Four of them follow one another
in perfect formation
resembling early morning scull rowers
training on the river.
The heron hasn’t moved.
Echoes of people talking in the distance
reverberate and a playful child runs and
throws a stone in the water
making it ripple, expand
reaching the heron.
A family, speaking a language
I do not know,
walks behind me.
All over the park
the yearly transformation to
yellows and oranges
compels us to surrender to its beauty,
while red leaves cover the ground
like autumn’s blood.