He was standing there in the mud

On those skinny legs

In the swampy marsh

The humidity was harsh

His feathers were wonky

Fluffy, askew

He was a brown heron but was feeling blue

She stared at him from atop the bridge

Mesmerized by how he blended in

Brownish feathers among the grayish-brown landscape

Coming here was her escape

Not with the team, just alone

On the bridge, in the sunrise, along the water’s edge felt like her zone

She was drenched in sweat

She’d run this far to try to forget

All the mean things her classmates had said

She’d straightened her hair but it was frizzy and partially wet now

All the make-up and fake laughter had made her dizzy

It wasn’t her

Though she wanted to be pretty

Her legs were skinny

That heron looked up from where he stood

His round brown eyes met hers

She loved how his neck curved

God looked down on them both and said, “Creation is good”