I found myself at a small beach alongside the Willamette river.
The sun was setting as I made my way down a rocky hill to the rivers edge. Once at the bottom, I rested against a small boulder.
A group of four friends skipped rocks across the river, actually getting pretty far. Each trying to get a bit further than the other, with an occasional celebratory fist pump in the air.
Two young teens taking selfies exclaiming “Biiitch!” while coaching one another on their best angles.
Smells of marine life and freshwater rode along a cool evening breeze.
Fizzing bubbles burned the back of my throat as I finished off my can of bubly, relishing the surrounding scene.
A small flock of geese zoomed overhead, maybe a foot or so above me down to the waters edge. The wind from their wings and obnoxious honking, invaded my ears.
So unreal.
Then I noticed it.
A sandhill crane standing as still as a statue maybe twenty feet away from me, near the rivers edge.
The first time I caught sight of a crane was about 6 years ago at the pdx airport.
With a massive wingspan, flapping in the air like a prehistoric dinosaur.
I really wasn’t sure if it was a bird at all.
Since then i’d see one here and there but never up close, nor in action.
Its presence now marked a special occasion.
Each step steady, each movement measured.
In stark contrast to loud rowdy geese
it seemed solitary, disciplined, wise.
Without much evidence, it ended up on the other side of the beaches edge like a gentle illusion.
A master.
You could tell it had a natural ability to be one with the vast bodies of water it navigated.
It’s seen a lot.
Pausing to stare into the water.
Still. Everything quiet.
Sound seemed to accommodate the crane, waiting for a cue to continue.
Even the geese hushed.
The beach became an extension of it’s conscious.
River waves softly reverberating against the shore
barely swayed the crane who responded with minuscule movements.
Movements so subtle-even if you were to stare-they’d go unnoticed.
With complete precision and no warning, it swiftly broke the waters surface.
A silvery fish flapping in beak.
No wasted effort.
Each movement deliberate.
Has it ever been clumsy? Made a mistake? Missed?
Even if that were to happen, water is a forgiving friend to the crane;
always ready to provide in some way.
Patience is not a virtue here.
Patience is a way of being.
Patience is what the crane completely embodies.
And is.
Patience is the crane.