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my day as a white egret

My day as a white egret

I wait until something goes wrong
to make the change
That puts me, beak vertical
by 6:30 am
I strike poses in cattails framed by Poplar groves
In a place where young Van Goghs
sit in the sun and roll their eyes in ecstasy at my white frame reflected in the water
Shining out from the careful contrasts of green on green on
Canvas

I find myself
Preening quietly
Contently
Amongst the static that surrounds me

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About wherearetheheros

just someone my mother might know

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