Heron In The Rain

I saw a heron in the rain, its twin chasing it in the green glass mirror of the river below. Bluish-gray itself, it said nothing and the whisper of its wings soaked up in the liquid sibilance of the drops speckling the water.

I tell you the heron said nothing, but it spoke volumes. It spoke to me of you.

While meditating on the water circling in the cove, I spied the feathery blur just as it burst from the trees on the far side of the river. The heron flew low, perhaps fifteen feet above the water. The orange beak stood out as shocking streak of dull orange fire against the murky emerald of the river and the liquid emeralds of the leaves. My mouth agape as I watched it arc across the gap between the trees bookending the banks of the river.

Heron, wait…

Of what blood are you, to my friend Brother Heron?
Brother, yourself? Sister?
Are you, friend-to-be, a cousin, perhaps?
If you are, then give my best wishes to Brother
should you see him.

He and I have not shared the same air in too long.

The heron did not so much as tilt his head in my direction. In seconds, it was gone, hidden by the trees. I became aware I was holding my breath, so taken as I was by that glimpse of rare and incandescent beauty. I let the breath out slowly, through my nostrils and closed my eyes to savor the image.

You were there. Stepping out from among the trees and floating across the water. A small gasp and I smiled to think of you, momentary flares of color like fireworks in the mind’s sky. I did not cry. My tears the rain dimpling the mirror. I dipped my hands into the water, aching to catch the ripples of your memory. Like the heron, they too were gone almost before I knew it, leaving me with afterimages of beauty.