In the thin moonlight,
we found ourselves by the lagoon,
where a congregation of boulders—
earth\'s silent sentinels—leaned in close.
Beneath the sky, freckled with starlight,
we stifled our breath.
There, at the gravel shore,
two herons, gray-blue phantoms, stood.
Frozen in their stalking,
spearing fish,
their stillness a dance of hunger,
swift strikes for wriggling prey.
Nature\'s quiet theater, inches away,
the wordless sermon of survival,
from fish to heron,
from silence to flight.
With a whisper of wings,
the herons ascended,
their lean bodies melting into foliage,
where nests wait, eggs hunger,
and the earth spins onward.