Fly

You fly low, not in the heady and giddying winds.
Just steady, full, big and searching for the next place.
So you can stand on those tall legs in the shallows.
Picking out fish in your slim beak, always patient.
Because they don't flock or school, you must stand.
Just so still, gently doing your walk with pause.
A jilting stick legged thing, yet so calm, so still.
Waiting as if this isn't a test, or intrusion, just be.
We have so much to learn from your art of being.