My brother tells of a heron, hunting squirrels around his barn. He sees the big bird in his mind’s eye as he describes this odd occurrence to me at a family gathering.
“JoDee, there’s a heron hanging around our barn. It’s this tall I tell you.” He motions with his hand.
I wonder whether he thinks this big bird is a sign; A messenger of hope sent from God to encourage them in their time of grief.
You see, pain swims in their home, due to the recent death of my sister-in-law’s father. Piranhas of the soul—grief and despair—lurk in the waters.
“Herons hunt fish,” my brother explains, “and also squirrels. I think this bird comes from a nearby marsh.”
A marsh in the upper desert? I think. I don’t want to doubt his reasoning but his story seems as odd as a visit from this tall bird in the country valley where my brother and sister-in-law live. In fact, the only water sources around are a couple of ponds. I remember seeing them as a kid. READ THE ENTIRE POST…