24/01/2026
Grandmother Heron
She stands where the world grows quiet,
where breath slows and the waters remember themselves.
Grandmother Heron does not call loudly.
She waits.
Her patience is ancient,
her stillness a doorway.
With long grace she leads you inward—
past the noise of striving,
past the weight of becoming—
into the clear place where balance is not forced
but found.
She teaches how to stand on one leg
between sky and water,
how to hold yourself steady
when currents move beneath you.
How to trust the pause.
How to see without chasing.
In her presence, obstacles soften.
They are no longer walls
but crossings.
Balance returns.
Inner waters grow calm.
She reminds you
that confidence does not shout,
intuition does not hurry,
and serenity is born
when you allow yourself
to be exactly where you are.
Grandmother Heron watches with old eyes.
She sees what rises
when silence is honoured—
and she waits with you
until it does.
Beth Wildwood
