Whenever I see the two Great Blue Heron babies pop out of
the nest with their wild-eyed, fluffy puppet-like heads, I think God has definitely
put Jim Henson to work up in Heaven.
They really are laughably ugly little things and yet somehow
still so endearing and entertaining.
Mama wasn’t feeding them this morning when I drove by, but
they were all up and about, the two little ones asserting some nest dominance,
pecking at each other, flexing their puny wings, stretching necks way too long
and unmanageable for them yet.
Their mother seemed not to care, but set about grooming
herself and ignoring them.
They were fighting but at least they were fairly quiet about
it.
They know if they start squawking, Mama will just sit on
them to shut them up.
There is this odd sort of juxtaposition at the Wetlands
where everything is so wild—even the road is pitted and littered with rocks,
sand, and the bony remains of fishes, snakes and frogs, left by the birds—and yet
at the same time so perfectly planned.
At 8 am, the deer emerge to feast on the dew-soaked grass.
The Great Blue Heron moms wake up and begin checking on
their babies.
The grackles line up on a bench, and sing their morning
hymn.
It’s all so utterly perfect sometimes I half expect the whole
world to break out into song.
It’s like suddenly realizing you might have accidentally
stumbled onto the set of a Disney movie.
It is this surreal nature at the Wetlands that calls to me.
It is a “thin place” where the world seems to move
independently of me and where angels seems to fly—there, just beyond the hazy
veil of sunrise.
And it is in these moments that the world seems too right to
be real.
There are moments when I think we were never kicked out of
Eden.
That the true curse of the forbidden fruit … was simply
blindness to the world God made for us.
But sometimes, if we are open, if we go looking for God, the
veil is lifted and we can truly see.
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