where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry
October 2, 2015 § 27 Comments
I am seen
by the knowing yellow eye
and allowed audience
Tagged: admiration, allowance, audience, being seen, bird, close up, heron, holy encounter, pond side, portrait, shade, spirit guide, spirituality, totem animal
Lovely photo, good words…they made me smile for that is exactly how it feels sometimes, those very special times that capture moments like this. Thank you for this.
Just beautiful. Thanks for capturing and sharing, x
Thanks for finding such a beautiful bird.
What a special moment, and so well captured in words and picture. Bravo.
Great photo, like it very much.
Nice photo and poem!
Herons are beautifully, graceful birds that hunt stealthfully and fly with an ease of wing. Good work … again!
Jaw-dropping image. Thank you.
Not liking the spotlight, this truly is a great photo. It seems most times you are allowed glimpses and even good long stares, but as soon as you try and capture it with a click of the camera, off they fly! Beautiful shot!
Gorgeous! Who doesn’t love herons, you know? I didn’t expect to see one today — thank you for that gift!
Always hidden in plain sight! 🙂
On Fri, Oct 2, 2015 at 4:20 AM, leaf and twig wrote:
> seedbud posted: ” I am seen by the knowing yellow eye and allowed > audience”
Stunning photo! WOW! 🙂
Great photo and words, Catherine! 🙂 ❤
Love this one!
We see what we want to see and what a beauty i’ve seen in this post. Couldn’t say it better with words. Beautiful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great image and poetry
Very nice and beautiful.
Awesome! I often feel just like that when watching them. You look like you were pretty close too!
what an amazing bird
Wonderful photo and comment. Here’s a sonnet I wrote about a GBH:
Dawn spread a sheet of satin on the glass
canal and lake and towpath in between.
My walk was interrupted by the scene
of his arrival from the marsh to grass.
I stopped stock still in case he wished to pass,
so I could watch him without being seen .
The wide splayed yellow fingers on the green…
How could such stick straw spindles ever last,
supporting elegance of gray blue girth?
Binoculars allowed him in my reach…
But yellow eyes at last discovered me.
A lift of neck and feather, shrug of mirth,
one blase glance and off the grainy beach,
into the air of swallowed memory.
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