Hiding in Plain Sight

I find it frustrating and disappointing, maybe even a little sad that I can send them so easily flapping when I didn’t even see them in the first place.

Any heron standing motionless is perfectly camouflaged in the reeds. Remarkable, really, this superpower. Just stay still and no one will even know you are there. But inevitably me and my kayak get “too close,” and I’m startled by the sudden “whoofing” of the rather large wings of rather large bird that was invisible just seconds before.

Getting a picture is for all intents and purposes almost impossible. I settle for a shot of the still waters along the short where it just moments ago watched my approach. I think Bruce Y Ogilvie posted one not too long ago that was stunning, taken on an early morning walk.

But for me, in the kayak, not so much. How can I even reach for my camera if the first time I’m noticing this magnificent creature is when it’s all kerfuffled and flapping about on fearful presumptions of self-protection?

And so unnecessary. I get that instinct kicks in, and why it’s needed. But oh. I wish there was some way I could let my long-legged, skittish friends know that I in no way mean them harm. I would so love to get to know them better.

But we’re like this sometimes, I think. Some of us anyways. So convinced that our vulnerabilities are so obvious that we find ourselves flapping about in the making of excuses, or apologizing for something no one even noticed until we brought it up. Overly self-conscious, unnecessarily anxious, very convinced it’s dangerous to let someone be too close, in case they figure out we’re standing here in whatever reeds our insecurities have pulled around us.

Never mind me.

I’ll just get out of your way and make a big to do about it as I do.

If we really didn’t want folks to notice, all we had to do was to stand still.

Because truth be told, all those folks are thinking more about what they are hoping to hide from us, never knowing we’re hiding too.

And here the heron thing starts to fall apart a bit. Because other than other herons, I’m not sure who a heron can trust. But they must, eventually. Trust another heron. Because otherwise how would there still be herons?

And it’s true that not everyone paddling by has to know our secrets and vulnerabilities. But eventually someone should. Or a few selected someones. People who have proven trustworthy, and who don’t judge, and who broker grace. There doesn’t need to be flapping excuses, or pre-emptive strikes, or image management, or superfluous apologies with these cherished friends. With them, there is safety in being “seen,” because there are indeed people who in no way mean us harm.

How can you tell who’s who?

Great question, deserving of more ponderings I’m thinking.

Friday

This week has gone so fast!

Tomorrow the rest of the fam jam arrives!!

Today is prep day for that.

Plus laundry.

And maybe today we'll go for our little picnic in the kayaks.