Ode to the Great Heron Who Waits
by Lisa M. Johnson
ODE TO THE GREAT HERON WHO WAITS
“For God alone I patiently wait; He is the one who delivers me.”
Psalm 62:1
I’d heard that the great heron feeds—
They who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I saw her standing at the still water’s edge,
The farmer gritting, naming her a nuisance.
But the heron, she knows who she is.
She flies and reigns over this water and wind.
For her patience is her plume, her gift, her inheritance.
See?
She is silent, unless laughing.
She is present, faithfully.
She is still as a mannequin, posed as a model.
She is sleek, made slender and groomed.
Alert, but discreet.
Her secret?
She waits.
She waits with no fear.
She waits to live—she must.
She waits to love her young; her delight is clear.
She waits, and she sees,
That thing I love to hate.
To wait, it could be the most important thing.
Eliminate hurry, slow my pace.
Walk, not run.
Linger, not rush.
Slow to hear.
Slow to see, what could I see?
My ache is to perform, produce,
to be something other than me.
I see the great heron, I chase,
I find her each day I glance.
She reminds me yet again,
Of every ounce who she’s created to be.
She flies away slowly, neck and wings outstretched.
Full of peace, full of rest.
I slow into silence.
I slow into trust.
I slow to feel, to soar in love.
I slow to wait.
Like the great heron who feeds,
Who waits with ease,
She waits and sees.