An Omen in the Fog

When little gifts come your way, embrace them.

This photo is from last summer, and I like to think it’s the same guy who I saw overhead. He returns every spring. Author’s photo.

Woke up early on the Equinox, a deeply foggy Sunday morning, and took Ginger out to pee first thing. It was deathly quiet and still in the dirt parking lot that fronts the old mill building where I live; not a soul out there, trees laden with moisture, fog lying like a thick blanket over everything. No wind, no sounds...but the birds! An orchestral chorus of birdsong greeted us as we stepped out into the grayness. I stood there listening as Ginger squatted, and then she quietly sat down next to me and listened too. We stayed like that for nearly ten minutes as the concert enveloped us.

I turned to go back in, and happened to glance up. A heron flew directly overhead, an omen. Birdsong, a heron sighting — gifts on this Vernal Equinox.