Remembering the Heron
Some days my body just aches with sorrow. It is the way I am. Given to melancholy, given to tears. Oh, I can smile too, laugh the world away. I guess no matter what I feel, I feel it deeply.
On the hard days, I am finding that pushing color onto paper is a solace. Moving my hand in circles, embracing white space and giving it shape. It opens me.
Today I sat against my bed pillows. In dim light I worked with greens, blues, purples. I tried not to be afraid of black. It gives heart and depth to the page. With these colors, I remembered the heron on Long Island. Each morning I would watch him slowly make his way along the edge of the lake. Glide, glide, glide, jab... silver fish flipping, caught by sly elegance. Sometimes the heron would take flight. I loved that. It could make me smile in awe, or cry.
The Heron, in soft pastel, by L.L. Barkat.