Blue Herons

The gentle, arched wob-wob,
 she advances step-step
  up the lake.
There is no one here
 except the mini-Lochnesses
 momentarily periscoping up,
 facing the wind
 as it whips up waves.
Oh, another follows
 step for step in step.
I realize this is spring.
Briefly, I wonder if the tension
 is only my speculating:
 she will yield without a fight
 or they are already friends
  as well as lovers.
It is spring and each walk
 step-step up this long lake
 and it would take all day;
 no, never finish, they way
  they walk step-step.
He leans into flight,
 glides purposefully down the lake,
 over the hill, and is gone.
Perhaps she didn’t notice;
 perhaps she felt a mere ripple
  of a flap amid the wind;
 perhaps she was only looking
  one step ahead as she continues
 step-step.
She eventually settles in and
he returns, wings splayed,
cruising to the other end
like he has some business to attend to.