Unwavering
Aside from her first giant stride across the lagoon, she is a subtlety on the shoreline, sculpted into the landscape, barely discernible in glowing grasses and bright-tipped trees. I stay intent on her stillness, her swaying neck, her stick legs, her solitude. I have perched myself on a bench, my vision shifting over clumps of lily pads, slow stirring ducks, crows diving in a back drop of bright blue sky. I settle toward the back of the bench, letting my spine collapse into curves. Right now. a student - great blue heron is my study.
This heron and I have come to cross paths because I gave myself the gentle urging to stretch my morning walk into some new spaces. She wafted up from the shore because I saw more sunshine on another bench, the one across the water and I am sopping it up as summer slowly fades. My walk - over the bridge and along the tree line - hugs close to the sunshine. It is because I am walking along the shore that she rises from the weeds - the heron - hoisting herself across the water, wide-winged, landing - just a small leap - on the further shore. Now I am sitting on the bench I was seeking. I can see her perfectly, draping my arm across my gaze, diverting the bright angle of the morning sun.
When she is not worried, with the languorous gait of a dancer, she slips out of the grasses. Three steps - then stops - on the rocks that in a rainier season would be covered with water. She is steady like a reed when there is no wind. Standing. Still. I am certain she can hear the rapping of hammers, the beeping of trucks backing up, the steady strum of traffic moving just a slight leap away. She cocks her head toward it all for a moment before becoming unconcerned. Instead, she shifts her weight to one foot, lifts the other leg, and lets it stretch back behind her - displaying its full length. She then tucks it into her belly, stretches the leg forward, and lands it with a step . She stops, slowly spins her gaze, and stares at me straight on. I am - unwavering - breathing easy. Satisfied, she continues her striding. Stepping along the shore like wind rolling through grasses, with movement so fluid it seems she will slip from my vision if i look away for even a moment.
My eyes never leave the slow motion of each movement as it makes its way through her body. Time becomes meaningless, as she teases it with each elaborate shift - the lift of her leg, the fan of her foot, lengthening, landing, rolling from her belly through her throat, beak - on beat - pitched forward, feathers rippling modestly in the momentum. Each step takes several seconds to complete. She walks along the rocks - the stopping between stepping lasting as long as the movement - absorbing each transition completely. Zen master moving perfectly.
Her graceful steps. Her rippling. Her aloneness.
We are roused from our hush by the rough jump of a dog who has broken through the brush and crashed into the quiet water. I am jolted in a way that racks my body into soft convulsions. The heron, however, becomes intent for a heart beat and effortlessly blends back into the weeds - a seamless transition. She has been poised in a way which her response will best effect her survival - every movement efficient with the option to escape. I am observing, learning, considering what it would take to continue with such composure, even when the world is crashing all around me. She stands back, stoic, unmoved until the dog romps back toward some whistling. Then with two lengthy steps, she is standing back on the shore's edge.
I watch her for a while more, by now my day beckoning to me. I shift myself on the bench in a way that suggests my reluctance. She shows her awareness of my movement, by becoming still in the same moment. As I leave, I try to emulate what I have just observed, standing up with a fluid roll, letting my arms drape around me like wings - I stretch one leg forward - a graceful extension that rises first in my hip and ripples out toward my toe. And then another. Landing each foot purposefully, letting my body sway. Like this, I step for a ways and then stop again in another patch of sun that gives me a closer look. I crouch at the shore, gazing at my bird mentor - she quietly considering my closeness, undisturbed. I continue my walk around the water, catching glimpses between clumps of trees. She is unmoving, rooted in a way that suggests she will spend a good portion of her day in this way - completely surrounded, free to leave, unwavering.
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Filed under: Published: Dec 11, 2011
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