Left, Great Blue Heron, Tarpon Springs, Fla., 12-29-19; right, Great Blue Heron, Radnor Lake, Nashville, 12-29-2020 ©LeisaHammett.com
Notice the difference between the photographs of the same species of bird, taken in two different states on the same day one year apart. There’s a story there. And I’m going to weave it here for you.
For 10 lovely, but, upon reflection, intense first 10 days of the holiday, I was the 24/7 caregiver for Grace, my young adult daughter with autism. On the day I dropped her off at her fathers’ for the remainder of the holiday, we walked Nashville’s centrally located Radnor Lake State Park. The wildlife there is abundant and spotting a Great Blue Heron is common. But, I’m unused to seeing them on this side of the lake, along the paved road versus the lakeside bordering the wooded trails.
When I returned home, I edited the 3 gazillion images I’d taken. When I came to the image of the heron, I remembered, I’d photographed a heron, in much closer proximity, the previous Christmas holiday. Huh. I searched for the image and it was one year to day that I was in Tarpon Springs, Fla.—the last time I traveled—and captured this wild bird squawking and flying back and forth the distance of about five feet and only about five feet from me and a family of fishermen. The bird acted as if she were drunk, and it was apparent something had wounded her wing. Of course, she was attempting to take a short cut and snatch a fish from one of the men’s lines. It was a curious sight and I stood there observing and snapping away for maybe 10 minutes in a sweet little hidden marshy state park.
Last week, I stood for about as long watching the beautiful creature captured in the black-and-white image. I resisted the temptation to scare him so I could see his broad wing span and hear his terrorizing honk. They are such mystical creatures and often fly overhead a nearby main road—their lengthy, slender compacted dinosaurian form sailing from pond to pond in our region that is graced with parks.
While the heron on 12-29-19 was *frantic,* the heron on 12-29-20 couldn’t be bothered to jut his bill for a photograph, much less fly. He simply stood there, tree pose on one long, bony leg in still, contented silence.
What a difference a year makes. And how apt the contrast of life before the pandemic and now. I’m convinced it was a message from the universe. And, I’m only choosing to share one or two layers of it here.
I’ll end with a quote and then an image I created of my own words summarizing my experience of “the year like none other”:
“The universe always replaces what exits your life with something bigger and better. Don’t be stuck holding onto the past or resisting change. Welcome new energy. Let go of what needs to be removed. There’s great blessings in surrender and allowing.” —Idil Ahmed
