|Illustration created by Judith Parsons Art 2016|
The first time the white heron came to tell her about the crossing over of another was in Tampa, FL. Apollo Beach to be exact. It was a breezy day, the sort of day the palm trees swished their palm leaves together making a magical music only known to tropical regions.
Her mother-in-law was in the hospital and her prognosis did not look good. She drove home from work and pulled into the drive way to find a flock of heron standing in her driveway.
They didn’t mind the car pulling in beside them, five feet away they stood, twelve of them looking at her. The wind was blowing their feathers, it was a slow motion moment. She looking at them and them looking silently back. She knew then it was to foretell of her mother-in-laws passing. They were their to give a heads-up on her mother-in-laws death.
She ran inside, called her sister who was a nurse and asked her to call the hospital that her mother-in-law resided in to find out the prognosis. All the vitals signs were poor and the mother-in-laws death was pending. The white crane had forewarned. It was the first of many times.
The white heron showed up in her life to foretell of coming deaths.
There were times when a flock of white heron flew beside her car and they ALL flew across her path. She cried as she drove. She knew the death was coming, and she never knew for whom the transition was for.
The heron became apart of her art. As she drove into town to do her errands she would come across herons that had been hit by cars along the road, she would stop and pick up the heron. She believed God was gifting her with gorgeous wings to use in her art.
Her children knew when she saw a white heron what it meant, she’d say: “There is a white heron.” She’d point it out, and they all would wait to see if the heron would come over to cross their path. They’d all sigh and long deep sigh of relief when it didn’t cross their path.
The other day, she was walking out the front door to go on her errands. She turned to survey the beauty of the day, the green hills, the sunny gardens and out of her peripheral vision she saw the heron coming toward her. She stood gulping, feet unable to move. The heron flew over the house and fifteen feet away from her. She sighed, she said a prayer.
Then day before yesterday she was leaving the mall and a heron flew upon a tree top and then settled upon a nest. She pointed it out to her partner, trying to point the nest out, trying to make her see what she saw. However, it was not to be seen by another.
The white heron woman unfurls her wings and flies to her place upon the shiny rock. She transforms into her human form and rest upon the warm stone, letting the sun become her blanket from above and the warmth from the stone melting her from beneath. She rest trusting in the great unknown.
Trusting in the white heron.