Saturday, February 27, 2016
That serpentine curve of the little blue heron’s neck, stalking its prey: was that what I saw this morning? No, I think I saw necessity turned to beauty as it filtered through me. I am nothing if not a transformation machine, turning coffee into distance, changing a small hungry bird into a chemical dance, into an imperfect memory of something whole. From my point of view, we’re reeling from the shock of it—radiant light, gravel underfoot, the chill air morphing into the steam of an exhaled breath—the shock of it all so very overwhelming, we have to turn a blind eye just to walk through the sunrise and out into the day.