A Winter Fair

Herons in Winter in the Frozen Marsh
Mary Oliver

All winter two blue herons

hunkered in the frozen marsh,

like two columns of blue smoke.

What they ate

I can't imagine,

unless it was the small laces

of snow that settled

in the ruckus of the cattails,

or the glazed windows of ice

under the tired

pitchforks of their feet—

so the answer is

they ate nothing,and nothing

good could come of that.

They were mired in nature, and starving.

Still, every morning

they shrugged the rime from their shoulders,

and all day they

stood to attention

in the stubbled desolation.

I was filled with admiration,

sympathy,

and, of course, empathy.

It called for a miracle.

Finally the marsh softened,

and their wings cranked open

revealing the old blue light,

so that I thought: how could this possibly be

the blunt, dark finish?

First one, then the other, vanished

into the ditches and upheavals.

All spring, I watched the rising blue-green grass,

above its gleaming and substantial shadows,

toss in the breeze,

like wings.

New to us! A bird we'd never noticed before showed up last week, a merganser, though not sure which specific kind. Exciting, huh?

Winter has felt very long this year, with many challenges, and except for the spiritual light of winter, I'm ready for spring!