December 19, 2013
This morning, two days before the longest night, I walked the creek. I came to the place where the creek widens into a large pond. A Great Blue Heron stood on ice protruding into the pond. I covered a frost covered boulder with my coat and sat. She paid little heed as she looked my way. I left well enough alone in the morning sunrise. The southeastern sky walked from morning mauve to just before the sun crests the ridge yellows and a Mallard drake and hen floated in with the current. They paddled just off ice edge, necking with one another as ducks do. Together, the Heron in its stately posture, the ducks paddling, and I—just this side of shivering, watched sun cresting ridge and lights slow walk toward the pond. One step and the sun entered the small notch just west of the ridge’s buckle. Instantly we were in sun light. A moment and all was quiet, contemplative, and well. Then the Heron lifted wings and moved into the frosted air, the ducks floated on, and I picked up my coat.
With creation as our teacher, hope of amazing harmony is the season’s gift.