Sanctuary

The sun rose behind the clouds, its electric hues waning but not yet replaced by the diffuse glow of daylight. The early August air was cool in the wake of the departing rain. The sounds of morning surrounded me... crickets chirped softly in the tall grass, a crow signaled its presence somewhere near, and unidentified birdsongs drifted on the wind.

In the distance stood a great blue heron, stately and proud. Nearest the edge of the yard, a glossy ibis searched the shallow pond for its breakfast. Between them, a white crane, dancing about the water in a slow waltz, flapping its wings as if chasing away his reflection.

As a barn swallow cruises over the yard, I spy another crane. This one above nature's stage to which I am witness. He flies with purpose. Then, noticing the other birds, begins to circle. His lazy arcs carry him lower as he searches for a landing place. Spotting it, he drifts downward and, with a final flap of his wings, settles into place among the others.

This is my sanctuary.