Leaving our house today, I saw the last remnants of my once majestic snow pyramids.
They had once soared, towering into the heavens…(well, at least seven feet high), but now only a slight hint of their past magnificence remained.
Beyond, our metal Blue Heron once again displays its exquisite plumage and profile, upright and resplendent against the fallow dun-colored earth.
Traveling to work I peered skyward, at an object that effortlessly winged its way against a cerulean backdrop. It glided along air currents with a slow, controlled flap of its primordial span.
It was a Blue Heron, the very first espied during this young and dreary spring.
I immediately said, “Hi, Dad!” and then it passed silently overhead.
During winter, when no herons roosted, another bird took place of Pops. A lone crow, its darkled countenance the only presence visible against a jaundice sky, soared over treetops with a “Caw! Caw! Caw!” sounding ever so close to “Paul! Paul! Paul!”, as though my father, dead now over four years, was calling to me, wishing me a hearty good morning.
But now, now with the first glimpse of a blue heron, I know I will be seeing more of ‘Pops’ as spring hesitantly presents itself.
From our heron in the yard, once buried to its beak in snow, to sighting an actual heron overhead, it gave me great joy and comfort, knowing that its return was yet another season to behold, in aviary form, a wonderful and sweet glimpse into the visage of my dear Dad.
‘Good to see you, Pops! I’ve missed you!’
Copyright, Paul Grignon, 2015 – All rights Reserved.