I spied three figures, ebbing in fixed positions on the lake.
Like the freckles on your cheeks when you squint at something distant.
I noticed them only because
as the waves moved beneath them,
as the clouds in the sky passed above them,
as the heavens themselves turned about them,
they sat still
as though their liquid perch
were hard and fast as granite.
They hardly even bobbed, resisting the jostling of the waves.
I watched them a while and decided they were herons at rest.
And then I remembered what I was doing before I stopped to watch them

I turned to leave,
and still they had not moved.