Red carpet…

“He was,” he said, composing himself and after a thoughtful moment, “crying for his history.

He had left his country and lost his wife and spoke a foreign language…

He had left as a husband  and arrived as a widower and a grandfather,

and he was responsible for all those people clustered around him…

He was,” he said,

looking up to the sky,

“like a goose who points the V,

and he temporarily wavered and lost his courage…

— about Calum Ruadh in No Great Mischief by Alistair MacCleod

I went for a bike ride along False Creek and English Bay,

before bata de cola class last Wednesday,

to ground myself after a day of writing…

And right around the pitch and putt course in Stanley Park,

I saw a heron land in a great tree overlooking Second Beach…

It was on the hunt for fresh branches,

for the intents and purposes of building…

I watched it struggle to pull and rip with its beak,

losing its balance more than once…

Eventually it gave up on that particular effort,

or decided to take a break from it,

and flew home for some encouragement…

A fellow cyclist mentioned to me that there was a great deal of nesting,

Over that way…

I hopped on my bike,

rode over in that general direction…

and I couldn’t believe what I saw,

felt,

and heard…

A gentle pffft,

and I was poopscotched by a heron…

This dusting of white foam was nearly exquisite…

It left me feeling all 649…

Seeing an apartment of nesting herons is a sight to behold,

and I beheld it…

A colony of hope,

promise,

and flights of fancy…

Radiating the kind of medicine,

that can surely repair a broken man,

or strengthen a defeated goaltender…

On Wednesday morning I took care of my car…

I topped up the motor oil,

checked and adjusted the tire pressure,

hand washed both the interior,

and exterior,

uncovering twenty-four rolls of toilet paper,

that I had forgotten all about,

in the back of the wagon,

just when the house was down to the last roll…

It was a small miracle,

and saved me a trip to the Great Canadian Superstore…

And then I heard about an even bigger miracle…

There has been a vacant lot on my street for at least ten years…

It was a growing junk heap,

on the foundation of a house,

that had burnt down to the ground,

resulting in 17 people losing their home…

Last week the cement was broken up,

cleared away,

and replaced with a garden of Eden…

I got the information from a man shoveling top soil in the alley,

so the story is hearsay,

but it is worth noting,

and repeating…

According to my source,

as part of a high school course with a component of service,

a bus load of grade twelve students from Chilliwack,

rolled into town with their able bodies,

and donated supplies of seedlings,

wood,

dirt,

gravel,

and bricks,

building Rome in a day…

The food from this garden will be used in the community kitchen,

for the women who live in the building beside it…

Food for the self-determination,

and self-reliance,

of a constellation…

Herons are waders…

The longer the legs the deeper the water heron will feed in,

the deeper life can be explored…

Heron people are wonderfully successful at being a jack of all trades and heron medicine offers the security of being given the ability to do a variety of tasks…

If one way doesn’t work,

another way will…

Herons gather only during breeding season…

They stand out in their uniqueness,

and they know how to snatch,

and take advantage of things,

that the average bird would not even bother with…

— in Animal Speak by Ted Andrews