Practicing to Walk Like a Heron

Open to the Psalms

17 Open to the Psalms for Dale Kushner When you write to us, “Snow coming on the mountains,” your words arrive as chill and comfort, our nerves now still with any news, age wandering through us like the quiet of our blood. We think of you there cabin-sheltered. We will wait. A week or two. The beeches, maples, willows, birches, and oaks along the creek now leaf-lost or yellow. When our time comes to look into our own first snow, I will think of what I think of every time—how within each winter’s long surround of cold, my father kept the family Bible on the kitchen table always open to the Psalms. On any morning I woke early in the iced arrival of the light I would see him turn a page, slap on his hat, and walk outside to shovel on into the day. ...