A Walk Between Worlds A great blue heron stands silently near the edge of a small lake. Partially concealed by a stand of pampas grass, she waits. It is not quite dawn, and the forest makes no sound. The sounds of last nights crickets and frogs have disappeared into the mist that hugs the shore of the lake. Gone too, is the screeching of owls. The night hunters, who glide silently overhead, patiently searching for that one mouse or vole that has been unwary, and is caught off guard. Throughout the forest there is tension. Tension that comes from the coming change. Everything feels it. The time of the great sleep, the period profound and restorative rest, that great slumber called Winter, is nearly at an end. The silence, the crisp cold, the small patches of remaining snow, are but delicate appetizers, to the prelude, of the bountiful menu that is Spring. Change is indeed coming. It is nearly the full moon. The early morning sky is changing from the void of near bla...
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Peace&Love