Practicing to Walk Like a Heron

Here in the Time Between

47 Here in the Time Between Here in the time between snow and the bud of the rhododendron, we watch the robins, look into the gray, and narrow our view to the patches of wild grasses coming green. The pile of ashes in the fireplace, haphazard sticks on the paths and gardens, leaves tangled in the ivy and periwinkle lie in wait against our will. This drawing near of renewal, of stems and blossoms, the hesitant return of the anarchy of mud and seed says not yet to the blood’s crawl. When the deer along the stream look back at us, we know again we have left them. We pull a blanket over us when we sleep. As if living in a prayer, we say amen to the late arrival of red, the stun of green, the muted yellow at the end of every twig. We will lift up our eyes unto the trees hoping to discover a gnarled nest within 48 the branches’ negative space. And we will watch for a fox sparrow rustling in the dead leaves underneath. ...