It’s 4:00 am. I have my notes all together but not yet ready to publish “What is your source of power?” In the meantime, a beautiful poem by Dave Lee, “Mountain Meadows” from the book So Quietly the Earth.

A shadow crosses the moon.
An owl slices the coiling wind.
Dark mice scamper over the cold earth.
A yellowed leaf twirls, earthward.
Midnight, a trembling cottontail
Huddles beneath a juniper,
Cottonwoods lean with the wind, groan.
A frozen moon above the dusty sage,
Cold white bones. The owl alights,
All night heavy upon the branch, moans.

A Wonderful Offer From A Heron Dance Reader

A subscriber has offered to match all new contributions to support Heron Dance up to a maximum of $500. This applies to increased monthly contributions as well. You can make a new contribution, or change your current support level, here.

Here’s a note from her:

Hello. My name is Rachael. I am older than dirt, and just about as attractive. I am grateful, though, for these years, and one thing I have learned is that often the best way to make something wonderful better is to share it. I look forward to Rod’s daily posts the way I look forward to getting together with my closest friends.  In some ways, it is like seeing a thrilling movie or going to a memorable concert  — together is better, even when it is what we now call “virtual.” 

A little story: When I was a child, my father and I had a very close relationship. He was a traveling salesman, so home only on the weekends. When I misbehaved, my mother’s most severe punishment was “I am going to tell your father.” Of course I usually misbehaved on Tuesday, and had all week to worry. On Friday I would run home from school and sit on the front porch to make sure I got to him first to give him my version of the misdemeanor. Every time his response was the same: “You agree that you did that and you understand why it was wrong? If so, you’ve learned your lesson. Remember it.” Throughout my childhood, if he saw me crying, he would put my head on his chest and cover the outside ear with his warm hand. Walking with you and Jim yesterday reminded me of how that felt. 

• * (Jim is the subscriber I’ve been staying with for a couple of days in Pfafftown, North Carolina)