Behind our home is a small lake and behind the small lake is part of an expansive nature preserve. A white heron often comes and perches in the thick expanse of trees and greenery that make up the preserve. The white heron is still, elegant, peaceful. It is such a beautiful, tranquil contrast to the unruly thickness of the foliage all around it, the greenery that twists and turns and fights for the center stage of the forest, reaching and seeking desperately, upwards and outwards. When I see the heron, I often wonder if that is what our souls look like. The beautiful, quiet, placid spirit part of us, deeply nestled in the center of the thick, and wild forest of our minds and our thoughts and our lives. It quietly sits and observes and reflects without thoughts and judgments and cares. The white heron is beautiful. It is quiet. It is being still. It is being. It is.