On being present.

Let me tell you about Henry.

It is the time of day when the sky is turning that rosy, purple glow. I am rarely awake early enough to notice sunrise colors. I slide into my car, bless the seat heater for working so quickly, and begin my day. I don’t turn on the radio or make a phone call. The silence is a balm for my nervous system and I have a solid 20 minutes of it before I arrive at my destination and the noise of the day begins.

I take the Back Way, as my husband and I call it, a two-lane road from Crofton to Annapolis that runs alongside a major highway. The Parallel Way would be a more appropriate name, but the Back Way it is - a winding, tree-lined road that cuts through a marshy area.

After a sharp turn, the road gives way to a small, low bridge. So low, it feels as if you are driving straight through the marsh grasses swaying in rhythm with the water. This is when I press gently on the brake pedal. If there is no one behind me, I come very close to a complete stop.

Then, I look for Henry.

Henry, a great blue heron with a long, pointed bill and narrow neck that is usually curved into an S-shape, is either wading in the water to the left or standing majestically on a small rock to the right. Once, he was flying directly overhead and the sight of his immense wingspan mid-flight took my breath away. Very rarely is he not there at all.

On the days I see him, I offer up an audible wow, an essential prayer, according to Anne Lamott.

“I do not know much about God and prayer, but I have come to believe, over the past twenty-five years, that there's something to be said about keeping prayer simple. Help. Thanks. Wow.” - Anne Lamott

This whole ritual began accidentally. I glanced out my car window and saw a giant bird sitting regally in the morning sun. Nicki Minaj was playing too loudly on the radio, I was probably speeding, and I was most certainly running through my long, long to-do list for that day.

And then - the sight of something so stunning pulled me into the present moment. The chatter in my mind stopped long enough for me to see my place in the family of things, as Mary Oliver says.

In the days that followed, I looked for him every time I arrived at that clearing. Months have passed. I’m still looking. What I’ve discovered - and, yes, I realize the deeper metaphor here - is that it is less about finding him and more about the seeking itself.

I don’t know what your Henry is, but I know that whatever tangible thing can anchor you to the present moment is worth pumping the brakes for.