Heron Rises From The Dark, Summer Pond
is the long-necked, long-bodied heron,
always it is a surprise
when her smoke-colored wings
and she turns
from the thick water,
from the black sticks
of the summer pond,
rises into the air
and is gone.
Then, not for the first or the last time,
I take the deep breath
of happiness, and I think
how unlikely it is
that death is a hole in the ground,
that ascension is not possible,
though everything seems so inert, so nailed
back into itself--
the muskrat and his lumpy lodge,
the fallen gate.
And especially it is wonderful
that the summers are long
and the ponds so dark and so many,
and therefore it isn't a miracle
but the common thing,
this trailing of the long legs in the water,
this opening up of the heavy body
into a new life: see how the sudden
gray-blue sheets of her wings
strive toward the wind; see how the clasp of nothing
takes her in.
After being stuck in very slow moving traffic on the highway, I was relieved to find this wildlife sanctuary at the end of a dead-end street in the scenic Skagit Valley.
After hours in the car feeling rattled and unnerved by the journey, I was grateful to drop into my body and connect to earth's rhythms - initially the stick and log percussions, and then, ending with what felt like the rhythms of the earth herself, feeling so much sweet energy of grounding and connection.
Partway through the exploration of dance and rhythms, a great blue heron flew overhead, in an awkward prehistoric, flapping kind of way... which felt perfect, as this dance felt quite awkward, too, and reminded me that many of nature's rhythms are discordant, and there is so much beauty in the disharmony of it all.
Feeling grateful for this dance of connection to significant others... thank you all for your dances... thank you, momo...
Music: Mountain Man (Thank you, Patricia, for introducing me to them) XO
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