Natural Setting: Noland Trail

A heron is perched on a fallen tree, looking over the water. Its head is tucked in, almost as if it is bracing itself against the brisk wind blowing across the water. It turns its head, looking straight at me, practically acknowledging my presence, instinctually knowing that I was there. Does the heron know I am watching it? That the words going on my paper all about him? Stretching out its neck, he scratches his wing before returning to his original position. I find myself silently urging the heron to fly, knowing from experience his majesty as he glides across the water. I check quickly between writing words to make sure that he is still there, that I will not miss the majestic moment. Maybe too often we look to the wild for the moments of beauty, captured on camera, the good story for when we return to civilization, witnessing the exception to the norm. But in doing so we ignore the awesome nature of rhythm and relationship. The way a heron stands on a tree, perched over the water, feathers blowing in the wind, warmed by the sun. All of those elements working together for the duration instantaneous. And me, am I a part of all that? Did the heron's silent approval bring me into that relationship, also being warmed by the sun, seeing the heron, and the heron seeing me as a reciprocal sacred perception? If I am a part, I am certainly not the center but instead another part of a continual creation. And what does this say about the creator? He is relational and constant, bringing us to one another in experience and stillness.

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