Statuesque as a Great Blue Heron,
she wades silently, patiently,
her long-necked beauty,
and generous wingspan,
testament to a tender soul.
She dreams of a mate
who can unfold her,
carry her to new heights.
Rustling in a nearby bush,
she encounters a partridge –
shorter than her, and
rotund, his countenance grey.
She is drawn to the candour
of his misery, how vilely
he has been misplaced –
his wife and nest robbed by
another, more showy beast.
Pity masks itself as kinship
and as love does, she dons
blinders, ignores the fact that
he prefers ground dwelling,
tells herself she will adapt
to his packs, learn his ways
Once dreamt of a mate
who could unfold her,
carry her to new heights.
Her shoulders slump, and
she draws her neck in now,
wings forgetting how to soar –
she is diminishing in the
confines of a single field
while her Partridge mate,
remains a partridge –
only fatter.
(Written for dVerse pub, hosted by Björn tonight, who challenges us to use metaphor. I might have got carried away…oh, well, excuse me while I flock off.)
One Woman's Quest 