The Light of Herons

Storm clouds roiled overhead during morning farm chores on the last day of June. Charcoal piles stretched upward, mountain peaks wrapped in silver stretches of mist. Angry fronts collided in sky battles while the waves that rolled behind curled upwards like the sea.

Beneath the waves, I fed our horses in their paddock down the road from the barn. When I returned to the barnyard, I hit the brakes at the top of the driveway, gravel crunching as the ATV skidded to a stop. I twisted to the right to look west at the storm front, stunned by its power.

Then, I turned back to the steering wheel and reached for the gear shift. But movement at the corner of my left eye pulled my gaze to the top of our 100-year-old wooden white barn.

There flew five great blue herons, just grazing the metal rooftop.

My mouth dropped. I’d seen a heron before—a solitary bird standing in Sugar Creek by the West Union Covered Bridge—but I’d never seen five all together.

One heron departed from the group to fly north just as it reached me. The rest flew a few feet above my head, going west. Their blue-gray feathers blended with the sky, necks curved gracefully. Wings rotated gently with slender legs streaming behind.

In a trance, I stepped out of the ATV and followed them toward the road, stopping on the edge of the blacktop.

The herons flew over the soybean field toward the storm front, reuniting with the bird that had flown north momentarily. The five became dark silhouettes, then thin pencil lines, and then they disappeared.

The farm, in western Indiana, is surrounded by water: the Wabash River, Sugar Creek, Mill Creek, Rush Creek. For great blue herons, the area is a buffet. A traveler peering through the window of a covered bridge can see a heron silhouetted on the water, nearly motionless. An unsuspecting fish swims by, and then, with one swift poke, the fish becomes the heron’s breakfast.

The bird's head swivels, observing the oaks, maples, and sycamores lining the banks. Then, it’ll gaze at the bridge, staring into the observer’s soul for a long moment. The heron will lift its wings, raise its feet, twist upstream, and fly away, all in one smooth motion, the gracefulness of the movement hardly comprehensible.

Herons are considered good luck in several cultures. And when they fly straight into a storm, unafraid, or calmly catch a fish, they send light for a world needing the reminder that, despite the storm, there can be peace.

Shine your light by supporting Light in Winter: The Exhibition, coming to the Crawfordsville District Public Library in January. Give light to others who need it this winter! Here are some ways to give:

And make sure to share the word about the exhibition on social and in person, and visit the gallery for the show January 9 through February 9!

Thank you for your support, and hope to see you there!