The spoonbill

wanders off from its group

in search of a drink.

A river flows nearby

and he waddles to it

weaving a path

through the tall grass

until he reaches

the edge of the water.

Dipping his head he takes a sip,

oblivious to how motionless

the water is,

as if it’s too afraid to move.

The wind blows and grass sways.

Grey clouds move overhead

blocking the sun

and a darkness covers the land.

A creature

not too far away

lingers near the waters edge.

The bright pink feathers of the bird

dance in the wind,

catching the creature’s eye.

The creature crawls closer

through the mud.

The mud clings onto the creature

trying to hold it back,

but the mud isn’t strong enough.

The grass waves

desperately in front of the creature,

trying to block its view

from the magnificent bird.

But the creature still stalks,

the bird still sips,

the mud still clings,

and the grass still sways.

A rustle

in the grass

causes the spoonbill to glance up

he looks around

cautiously.

The creature strikes

and the spoonbill lays

motionless;

the water splashing over his body.

as he is hauled

through the mud and grass,

the roseate spoonbill’s

vibrant plumage

shattered by a bullet hole.