DSCN0486   Walking alone by the lake I see the grey heron standing so perfectly still my heart either leaps in joy or stops for an instant, I am not sure which.

from –

The meaning of the heron deals with being comfortable in spaces that are neither here, nor there. It prefers hunting at twilight, which is a symbolic and magical time of ‘in-between’. The heron will have one foot on land, and one foot in the water – this action has been recognized by ancient cultures as a sign of liminality – of crossing into the a space that is neither here, nor there.


So often these days I feel like I am floating between one reality and another.   Out in the world I see the busy people rushing about.  Sometimes I rush too and get caught up in the worries and the fears.  The grey streets, the grey faces, the wind like a torrent of grey air sweeping down from grey sky –

I turn away then and walk alone beneath trees.  I see the way the branches stretch out against the dove grey sky and the leaves hang in slate grey ikebana arrangements of exquisite understated beauty.

This morning on the radio I heard a song I didn’t know.  “The soul got out of the memory box,” the woman sung.   “Ah that explains it,” I thought.   “My soul’s gotten out of the memory box and beats now in synch with my heart.   I am neither here nor there but somewhere in between.”

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prompt –


15 thoughts on “Grey

      1. I’ve been to parts of northern Spain but only the cities. I certainly didn’t see any herons there but maybe they can be found in wild waterways.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. Liminality was the word I was looking for when I commented on your water post. These photos are exquisite and belie the stereotyping of grey as dismal, bland and banal, as you do in words once you cross into the natural world.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks – yes I did want to take the idea of grey beyond the dismal. Right now looking out my window the sky is sky is grey with soft pink streaks of sunset – nothing dismal about it all. 🙂 (oh if you are wondering – the ride on mower I wrote about in the post ‘Lines of Flight’ has finally stopped – bliss.)


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