I watched a heron fish this morning. He stood at the end of a sand bar, a misplaced lawn ornament in his stillness, colors so perfectly matched to the water that his shadow all but disappeared into the ripples rolling past his reed-like legs.
He watched the water directly in front of him, single focus made manifest. Lowering himself toward the water, he changed shape almost imperceptibly, his movements lighter than the morning breeze. Finally, finally, he struck, a movement so concise and precise I might have imagined it except for the fish struggling in his slender gullet.
I'll bet that heron doesn't obsess about anything. He does not fret about having enough. He does not worry about his 401K or how he'll ever retire.
Nope. He exercises the gifts given him. Patience, focus, being in the moment, flexibility and great reflexes feed that bird. Oh, and grace. Lots and lots of grace.
