Motionless

Got outside this morning.

Found my way out into the big room.

Touched some grass.

There’s a walking trail near where I was staying, just a short loop around a small lake.

Other parts of the world it would a pond, still others a puddle.

Nomenclature aside, makes for a pleasant space not far from suburban sprawl.

In the creek, a heron. Or egret. Or something. Crane, maybe.

Standing, as they do, completely still.

Waiting for breakfast, most likely.

It’s their stillness that gets me, because I find it so difficult to achieve anything near like that.

If I’m that far removed from motion, I’m asleep, generally.

But their stillness is preparatory.

A spring, coiled.

Full of potential.

Conserving that motion until necessary.

Next life, I wouldn’t mind being a bird.

Until then, working toward stillness, about motion arrested, ready.