When Indigo Jack Found Sora
When Indigo Jack Found Sora
There are moments when the wind stills, and the world leans in.
High in the pines, where the sky folds softly into needles and light, I met a pair of great blue herons who seemed untouched by time.
I had seen them before from afar—graceful silhouettes skimming the water’s edge, sentinels of the marsh.
But that day, they flew right beside me. Not away. Not afraid. Just there, like I was part of the story. And in that moment, I was.
He came first, bold and brushed in indigo, his wings cutting wide through the blue. I call him Indigo Jack, a name that feels just wild enough to belong to a creature of wind and water. He carried a stick in his beak, not for himself, but for her. The one who waited.
Her name is Sora, meaning “sky,” and she wears it like a crown. There is a hush about her, a quiet knowing. She is moonlight in feathers. Not soft, but sacred.
Together, they built a nest—twig by twig, moment by moment. And I watched, breath held, as Jack passed a branch to Sora, their bills touching not in hunger, but in offering. A ritual older than memory.
Link Two Herons Building Nest Video
I often feel that nature lets us in only when we’re still enough. Quiet enough. Respectful enough to be trusted.
This was creation unfolding, and I was invited to witness it.
Have a Wonderful Weekend.
And the wings kept beating.
Sandra J’s Adventures Outdoors
Real Christianity the Great Awakening
By RJ Dawson
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