Acrylic on canvas.
We see herons everywhere now, even one flying high above our house on our way home from walking beside the lake. We wonder if it followed us. I wonder what the heron might mean, if it has a message for us.

Maybe it's the swampy home, knee-deep in muck and mire. Focused on finding its next meal, recklessly disregarding the place where it plants its feet.

Maybe it's fierce determination in the hunt, its beak precision-carved for the fish it's meant to kill.

Maybe it's a question mark, its slender neck poised to wonder.

Maybe it's aggression, tall and proud. Sleek and ambitious. Ready to make things happen against the odds - alone.

Maybe it's a mother, guarding her nest fiercely from invaders. Hunting fish to bring home to her young with single-minded focus.

Maybe it is solitude and silence. Clarity of mind and proximity to water.

Maybe it's balance, sure-footed on any terrain.

Maybe it's wisdom. Potential. Folded wings perched to spread wide.

Maybe it's a bird. In spring, my children tossing rocks in its direction hoping to catch its attention. Maybe it's time to go home.


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