So there I was, just sitting there, staring at the Heron. Ok, it
wasn't a Heron, it was too small, but this thing, this bird was standing
on lily pads looking into the water for fish. Hop, hop each time.
Each time the lily pads would start to sink, at first slowly, down,
down, then when feathers, beak, longings for fish were all about to
become sucked into the depths
Hop, hop on to a new pad to restart
And I just sat there watching, as if I were on solid ground, as if
I were not sinking, "Oh look at the poor Heron sinking into the
water, glad my life's not like that." Hop, hop, as if my castle
wasn't sinking, as if
No, I haven't heard from Judith, and I
don't know where she is.
Maybe Paul was right. Paul Knobbe, who certainly wasn't right when
he said I would "get on smashingly" with Amy Bromer, or
when he thought that letting Mary Sgletti move in was a good idea.
Was I too
Hop, hop. Oh Christ if only it were that easy. Just pick up and move
to the next lily pad. Plenty of fish in the
After seven years,
how could she just
I think I spent all day there watching the Heron save itself each
time, as the water rose above my neck.