it's a wading bird...

It's a buttery soft October day and the wading bird plops about in the marsh.  Wonder what he's looking for? Food or play?  Is there some egret exuberance?   Does he know that I gauge his every move with the wind, or that I watch how he picks his feet up and puts them down as if playing some egret game of hide-and-seek tucked away in the silence of his egret world...suspended somewhere between wet and dry in a reflection which raffles his beauty to the autumn softness. Does he know that he bears one of two names...Soon or Now?  Does he know that I have watched his silent moves for two years filled with wonder and curiosity?  Does he know what he really means to me? Is that why he comes back and graces the tidal pool with his snowy whiteness, ruffling his feathers in a Folly show-and-tell? Today, his name is Now. What took you so long?