from RETURNING FROM THE ENEMY
            Joy Harjo
                p. 2000*
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The elegant white heron on Kualoa Beach enjoyed the light winds and the 
smell of fish as we all watched the falling sun with reverence. I did not 
see guilt in his posture, nor did I hear him admonish himself for some 
failure of the deep or near past, rather he absolutely enjoyed his 
heron-ness, the wind, the sun and made note of the approach of the 
longest night of the year. He had no doubt as to his right to be a heron, 
or his right to enjoy the catch and taste of fish. But what do I know of 
herons? I do not know their language or their culture. We have human 
observations. Though for any small creature or god in this universe it 
comes down to attitude. You can walk through hell with your head up, still 
sparring with the fire, or you can be defeated by any small thing.


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* from _A_Map_to_the_Next_World_, 2000
(--Note: this is the prose-poem "appendix" to section 11 of the poem.)

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