Driving to an appointment today, I spotted a White Egret standing alone on a small patch of land that sits sandwiched between two sides of the highway.
It was striking to see such a lovely bird there, in the tall, marshy grass,
yet still so close to discarded trash along the shoulder, and surrounded by so much traffic.
It didn’t belong there.
Watching it, it seemed to know that.
I’m used to seeing them standing far out in the fields.
I’m used to seeing their silhouettes up against a foggy morning backdrop.
They stand so still, and always look so picturesque…
I’ve always thought of them as a symbol of something timeless and regal.
To me, this Egret looked sad as it glanced around.
Like it was wondering where exactly its home went.
Like maybe it had gone away for just a short time, but had returned to find the sound of rustling wind overtaken by noisy trucks passing by,
and the asphalt sides pressing in on its lush patch even closer.
I felt kindred with this Egret today.
That’s how I feel right now when I look around, too, at all that is happening.
“Where did my home go?” and “What happened here?”
I, too, feel like the sound of water has been replaced with machines that rumble by loudly;
As if the feel of the breeze, and of being at home where I stand was suddenly replaced by
feelings of shock, and the sight of endless seeming foreign structures.
Everywhere I look is a thing I don’t recognize anymore;
From our values, to our reasoning, to my circle, to our shared hopes for the future.
I thought about that Egret for the rest of the drive.
I stood with it in silence, and remembered what it was like before the constant need for more took over.
At the beach today, a little girl is playing in the warm sand of the cove.
She knows nothing of war or political sides.
Which shoe goes on which foot is her only conflict.
She knows you can go out pretty far if the tide is right.
She only knows a seagull will steal your goldfish if you let it.
She loves the way it feels when the sand is wet and she digs her finger tips in.
This little girl does not understand why her mother furrows her brow so much at her phone screen.
She doesn’t understand why adults worry so much about boring things when they, too, could be finding driftwood to toss into the current.
All she knows is this current day, and the way she kind of likes biting little grains of sand between her top teeth.
She likes the way the dog runs into the water without a care,
because that is exactly what her own heart is doing.
She does not know that across that very ocean,
another little girl just like her stands, looking around like the Egret:
wondering what happened to the land around her.
She was just there not so long ago,
But now, where she once stood is reduced to rubble.
She remembers the feel of the breeze, too, before the air was no longer safe to inhale.
She, too, feels the earth shake and feels the machines of “progress” pressing in.
She, too, looks around and wonders what happened to the home she remembers.
She, soft and quiet, looks like she doesn’t belong there:
White Egret against the ruins.
Today, I am the Egret, and both of these girls;
One part wants to play, one part wants to cry,
and one part feels completely separate from humans.
My heart stands alone and takes the whole earth in.
My wings stretch wide to draw both girls to me.
Our precious home: bearing so much trash, pain, and noise.
I long to carry us away to before it was broken.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
