Stepping into the numinous, inescapable within this pre-dawn light, exacts a reverence in my walk quietly to the water, again to the water. Across the still pond a great blue herons grey silhouette, wresting its communion, raises his head and slowly steps onward. A beautifully deliberate liturgical dance. The smoldering hot embers of last night’s fire serve as oaken incense, distant cawing crows, a doxology. The stately white pines, their tops shrouded in mystery, await to whisper today’s tales. Curiously, squirrels are missing with their arguing, chattering sermons. Good news. It’s a good day for few words. The slippery rise of a fish chimes in accord.
Quickly, so quickly, a familiar quiet descends. Within seconds degrees are relinquished provoking a full body shiver. Staccato exhalations reveal my spirit, only to fade in doubt. The surrounding energy is needed elsewhere it seems; it has left. I sit abiding a raw, cold silence. For how long, how long, I do not know. My eyes grow heavy and tired before accepting the white sighs. Listening and gazing into the mist…now swirling and wistful …warmth slowly dawns as penetrating rays shine upon my face beside quickening waters.