January’s featured poem

Memory for a Winter Day, by Antonia Matthew
One Spring I saw
Blue Herons,
flying toward a knot of trees
bounded by a rough, muddy road
and ploughed fields
that rolled away ending at the sky.

The herons were silent,
as if flying in from the past,
on their great wings
that tilted, quivered.
They hovered over the trees,
suspended for a moment,
then their long legs stretched down,
wings folded, and they dropped,
drifted through the maze of branches
into the shadows,
landed on their flat, untidy nests
with a slight bob
and fluffing their feathers,
as the late afternoon sun
slid into the grey clouds.

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