This morning, I spotted this beauty as I was walking along the path with Wrigley. He’s a frequent visitor to this pond, which tells me there’s a ton of life lurking in the depths of the murky water below. He’s a stealth operator, but so are we. The sky above us is clear and blue, there’s a gentle, but chilly breeze. We hesitate, and so does he.

Like a story scripted long ago, we do our careful dance. Him watching us with ready wing, Wrigley knowing his part, standing stock still. For him, this is a story. It is for me too. In a way, we are all birds of the same feather, languishing along life’s path, watching and waiting for something to change.

It’s that image in the mirror, not too exciting, until something suddenly does change. The sky is blue, the earth is brown, the water a sludgy kind of green. And then, it happens. Wrigley straightens up on his haunches, his ears fly up and another, larger more elegant gray bird enters the scene. Not close enough to be any kind of threat, but close enough to that white heron for a turf war to begin.

But our hero, the little white heron, seems unfazed. She knows we are all watching; she sees the Great Blue across the swampy water. But, she has no fear. She scoops forward and slips half her body into the muck. Wrigley lurches. I grab hold. And it’s the larger heron, the blue beauty is the first one to leave. He arches up, spreads his wings, and with no pronouncement, wings his way to a whole new horizon.

There’s no curtain call today. Wrigley gives a tug, little white swallows her small catch, and life in this two sided mirror rushes on. I am a story collector, latching on to the little things, those moments that give me a cheap thrill. Like the heron, I’ve had a bit of a catch today, and now I’m hoping for more.