Early morning, walking with my dog in Husseywell Park. Misty autumn air, trees beckoning, usually beckoning to my dog to hide behind a solid oak, only to be found by me as his tail wagged happily from the trunk. If I hid, he worried until I showed myself and laughed.
But this morning was so different. The branches seemed to beckon us towards the peaceful pond ahead. The pond has a tiny island in the centre. –– Wait! A sculpture has appeared at the pond's edge – a heron blending grey in the mist, one leg folded –– a sculpture? No! It moved! It is a heron. Stop! It knows no fear and seems to welcome us within the hazy scene.
Paddy the dog and I gaze silently. The autumn aura enfolds us, but rogue time is hovering. Mindful words kaleidoscope into emotion and sight.
Heron instantly spreads its ghostly wings, propelling its stick-like legs into the sky and where?
A motor-bike chugged along the adjoining road, pushing us noisily back into the restless world, leaving a miracle memory in the album of my brain.