#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
Great Blue Heron
. . . .
Today the bird stays with me, as if I am moving through
the heron’s dream to share his sky or water—places
he will rise into on slow flapping wings or where
his long bill darts to catch unwary frogs. I’ve seen
his slate blue feathers lift him as dangling legs
fold back, I’ve seen him fly through the dying sun
and out again, entering night, entering my own sleep. . . .
Excerpt, "Great Blue Heron," by T. Alan Broughton,
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/54254/great-blue-heron
Instead of walking first, we meditate. My son has risen early, like his father and me. He’s going to meditate, and so we join him in a half-hour sit in the quiet house. I remember a scene in my pediatrician’s office, when this man was a toddler running crazily around the waiting room, and the exam room, running everywhere, climbing, jumping, in constant motion, and I worriedly asked her, is this normal, his activity level? And she assured me it was. Now, now he sits, breathing deeply, calmly. We sit beside him, eyes closed, at peace in each other’s presence. It was many many years before he taught himself how to embrace being still, and now, he teaches others. It is a full, full day. I walk later than usual, shorter than usual, the house is full of the eight of us, coming and going. It is our last day all together. We go out for a long, lingering dinner in Sarasota. Everyone thanks us. Everyone likes each other and is getting along. Now I have had all my children here and all my brothers and sisters as well. I see my children with their own some day children, growing into the decades together.
