In these last days of August, I take a look back at a summer moment tracing the thread of beauty on a coastal road somewhere in New England…

Morning Migration

In the quiet tidal marsh,
along a coastal road lined
in Queen Anne’s Lace,
a lone heron dances
stirring the sanctuary
I dance too,
my legs wobbly, my steps small.
Golden light breaks upon my back,
and on the heron’s wing.

I turn beyond what is known
and see the lavender horizon in a tapestry
of muted light.
Here I have no fear,
for there is no one to see
my silent gratitude, full with grace.

The tidal marsh waits
like the sanctuary,
like the heron,
like all of us, for the light.