Birthday Egrets Nine egrets, whiter than snow in the wetland after the deluge, wings unfolding – graceful, slow, then like sudden overblown sprays of wild cherry blossom, perched for a moment on the tallest oak. Nine egrets, whiter than snow on this my mother’s birthday and she twice nine years ago gone. Are they a present from her, when presents should be hers? She promised to come back – nine egrets, whiter than snow. So perhaps this is it: in tiny mirrors of water from beyond, a special show plumbed by the horse’s hooves. Maybe she wants to remind us of the nine-times-tables we chanted… nine egrets whiter than snow… and how multiples of nine add up to the nine which scatters and glows with a transforming light of change, previous mistakes churned into mud by the birds’ feet yolk-yellow. Nine egrets, whiter than snow O wing me, then, whiter than snow – long black beaks nibs...