Writing On The Dock Of The Bay
At low tide two herons land in the lagoon and gingerly walk on the mud bottom, their colors blending with the early light, the water, their curved necks darting snake like into puddles and patches of vegetation. We watch from the kitchen table and forget all about our coffee and buttered toast. Their beauty and presence adds reverence to our day; their careful, measured steps remind me of a passage in the Tao de Ching. We lose ourselves in wonder; free ourselves from the click of the clock, from obligations we've made, from sentences we've agreed to well in advance. Seagulls and geese arrive, and light shimmers gold upon the water. Our gazes drift back to the two herons whose grace and unhurried care we later call Heron Now.