If Tulip Poplar is the tree of my heart, then Blue Heron is its bird.
My introduction to Blue Heron came in the form of a feather which was intentionally and lovingly included as the companion of a sculpture I received from the otherworldly, wildly talented friend-of-my-heart, Rebekah Dawn of Mulberry Mudd. The gray, solitary feather was paired with a slip of paper on which there was a single phrase written in Rebekah’s tendrilled script: She Who Knows How to Stand Alone.
The heron feather shimmered. The lone message was curious. Not knowing what to do with either, I laid them aside and admired the centered sculpture: a noble clay rendering of incarnated Cotton.
Within the year, Blue Heron and I met as I crouched by a quiet creek. With Tulip Poplar witnessing from the opposite bank, I cried, prayed, and sought shelter from the tumbling debris of my shattering life. Soon, I would be alone. Shaken, I slowly lifted my eyes from the creek’s rippling face and looked to my left. My eyes widened. The breath caught in my chest. Before me stood a blue heron, steady on its feet and silently preening.
Time stopped. There was no crumbling past or uncertain future. There was only myself, the heron, and the present, timeless moment. The air pulsed with the holy as the heron effortlessly and elegantly spread its wings without a sound, gracefully lifted itself out of the water, tenderly flew just over my head, and bestowed a gentle, potent benediction.
This is how Blue Heron and I began to walk together. It’s been a solitary road.
Blue Heron as sketched by my friend, Bert Bernier
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