Tall enough to warrant a particular word for the expression of tallness, given birds as a general category, the blue heron plants its feet. This positions the world there, where anything brief may be. In water, by water, or on firm land itself. The world makes a strong plantation. Fish, frogs, insects, that sort of thing as possible food and plenty. Pointy beak in the extremis of living delivers the culminating darting moment. The thought basks electric. Greek philosophers in the ages rode heron into oddity and back. You can see that, right? Heron flight says something about expanse. The legs drag behind, the neck curves, the wings sweep with impossible levitation. Blue heron weigh as much as any myth, sculling to the next wet place, which you may never see. It still happens, with or without you.
From the thing itself, beyond seasoned aptness. Life is like living but blurred by you were listening. Aspect ratio telemetry in myriad languages smooth as rocks approaches time to look. Words piece together things or things find words. Endlessness is a choice, written big in words as shiny as geese. Words simply take the time in radiation and radical point. Stein wrote the heft of nothing special, start there or whatever. You can slowly adjust the franchise, commodity's inner workings. Subglacial quips, subliminal washouts, frantic azure in the breeze of frosty Friday: these special sparking hallways slyly enjoin. Maybe you read too much into reading too much. Further on is where you’ll stay.
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