"The White Peacock"

"Through a mist of roses - Deep in the heart of a sea of white violets - Slowly, white as a snow-drift, moves the White Peacock."
------Fiona McLeod (1855-1905)

The Blue Heron

Found around Michigan's lakes, seeing one for the first time is probably the quietest, most magical moment you'll have.

For the Heron, Blue...

For the Heron, Blue

In a quieter time, with simpler pleasures, before we loved,
Before the sky was the color of rainbows, shattered like ice,
Back when the sky was the color of herons, graceful and blue;
Just like the way I remember your eyes.
We didn’t know then, nor do we know now,
The changes the heron would bring.

In a quieter time, with simpler pleasures, before the storm,
Gathering clouds, not quite to the main shore ,not quite to the heart.
There was a road, but not at all like a highway,
More like a song, open to the heart.
There was a stream, but not at all like a river,
No consciousness known;
More like the ways I remember your eyes.
We didn’t know then, nor do we know now,
The changes the heron would bring.

The night was filled with the crying of eagles as the storm moved on shore.
And I watched your eyes shatter like ice while the heron his vigil kept.

Now the heron remains alone. It doesn’t remember the color of your eyes;
only quieter times.

Thom P. Miller,
Sung by a young, but already stunning (in a heron-like manner) Gwen Faasen