Path of the Feather
I think it’s important to keep it real and bring our flawed moments to the light with grace and humor. Too much of our social media persona can only show our “best side” or some version of who we want to be instead of the muddy waters. The curated reels, the staged shots, the polished presentations — they don’t always leave room for the deeply human stumbles that actually connect us.
In keeping with my intention to expose my missteps, we had another heron. It was just before sunset, I was at the pond not five minutes before with the zoomie puppy. The wifi camera captured the moment as majestic as it was sad as this time he grabbed one of my 8″ ten-year-old goldfish residents. It was heartbreaking to see him lift from the pond with my longtime companion in his beak. I didn’t make the reel for it, because it felt so dear to me and tragic.
When Dan came into my room to check on me today and take Shelby for a little walk, I handed him my phone so he could see the heron footage.Dan watched it and we talked a bit about the bittersweet grace of it all and then gave my phone back. I set it face down on my tray table and didn’t think much more about it. Michael had gone into the kitchen to get me some ice for my headache. I had been watching the live pond cam today on my wifi cam app and when I reached for my phone and looked at the screen I saw the heron at the pond, clear as day.
I started screaming at the bird. “Get out! Get out, motherfucker!” My heart was pounding as I jumped up, ready to sprint to the pond. I felt the jolt of adrenaline like lightning in my chest. Until I suddenly realized I was yelling at the video—the one Dan had just watched. Not the live feed.
Michael came running in. “What is it?!” He said out of breath.
I laughed and told him what I’d done. He just rolled his eyes and said, “I’m gonna pretend that didn’t happen.”
I’m getting older. There will be more senior moments ahead. Hopefully I have the humor to handle them.
The heron wasn’t the only feathered uninvited visitor this week. An owl landed in the pond one night — the WiFi cam caught it all. That one I DID create a reel because there were no casualties.
The next morning, as I looked out across the pond, the sun just beginning to scatter through the trees, there was a single feather floating there, drifting between the lilies like a tiny boat on a velvet current.I walked out to the edge of the pond, knelt down, and reached for it. The air was cool on my skin, and the stones beneath my knees were cold. I stretched my fingers toward the feather, but it slipped just out of reach, carried by the most subtle ripple.Michael had just woken and saddled up beside me. He looked at me, looked at the feather floating away from me and muttered not quite under his breath “It don’t want you,” .
I burst out laughing. Because it was perfect. And true. And kind of profound in the weirdest way.
And maybe that’s the whole point.To be present with the moment, even the messy ones. To witness our mistakes and small sadnesses with tenderness. To laugh at our humanness and let it soften us. To not only admire the still pond, but to sit beside it, letting it reflect back all our muddy water with compassion.
Even when the feather don’t want us.
Sometimes, the path of the feather is not to be reached for, but to be witnessed. To be followed with the eyes of the heart, in the iris of the mind. It shows us the current, the stillness, the subtle shifts. And maybe that’s enough — as we hold it all lightly, stuck in the mud, still reaching for the light.
