and the quality of light on the apples, and we wonder. She

attunes our ear to the scratch of the pen hurrying to write

the most earnest supplications before self-consciousness

takes over. Surely the fact that I worry means something.

Surely my room of so many days holds stories worth

setting down. Consequence is an act of imagination.

Everyone wants to imagine a consequential life. (from In My Room)

A heron slips along the shoreline as if on rice paper. A

great angler, he will place a reflective object on the water's

surface-a pin oak leaf, for example-and watch for a fish

to investigate. The heron's patience, driven by necessity,

far outstrips mine. Fifteen minutes in and I lower the

binoculars to look for other birds. Meanwhile, the green

heron waits, motionless, seemingly dispassionate, until a

fish is in range and he strikes. Is it hyperbole to compare

the jolt to lightning? His long neck shooting out and

snapping back, he breaks the water's surface like a diver

with barely a ripple and comes back with the catch. He is

fed because he waited, quiet and watchful. (from Green Heron)