Blue Heron

Blue Heron

In my walk on this Autumn day I saw a Blue Heron sitting,
on a small island like a throne it seemed to rest
in the comforting sun.  Then, it would get up and walk
in a funnily elegant way and then simply sit again, with neck
pulled in, then suddenly standing and spreading it’s wings,
flying with grace almost languidly across the lighted waters, to arrest upon
fallen limbs, adorned with light grey bark.   Seeking sustenance, it seemed to patiently
wait, its long beak seeking to come into play, bringing swift death
to its intended prey. 

Such beauty all around played out in the silence of an
early afternoon, with grasses browned by the season,
blowing gently in the deeply felt cool breezes, refreshing
like the kiss of God.  I left my friend, my feet making
crunching sounds on the gravel beneath, another gift of
beauty, this strange music that I make along with wind, the bird,
and dancing grasses.

I came upon a field open, harvested, beautiful in it’s serenity,
Geese sitting quietly further on watching me with intent, yet I had
no tooth or claw threatening, only good will as they looked, so
I walk slowly by, they unafraid.  A clumsier predator they
would ever encounter, I laughed to myself, yet not loud so as
not to astound.

In silence deep, I hear your voice beloved; pure grace like
music it felt, yet not a voice, yet in fact it was, uttered in silence,
causing me to feel such deep inner peace that I was afraid
to break, yet I heard deeply, in deep quietude:

“My thou, my child, I love thee”.