Today I happened upon a few minutes that stood still. It was during the final miles of 18.5 mile run. Above Newport Beach's back bay, along the green belt, I glanced ahead and a tiny sliver of white caught my eye. I slowed to get a better view. Gently, in the distance, the figure began to take shape, sending clues through its slow, deliberate movements. Alone amid a background of green leaves and a silent wind, a great White Heron stood before me. How close can I get? I slowed to a walk. Then slowed some more.
One hundred feet, fifty feet, twenty five. I inched closer. Fifteen feet! He turned to walk, cautiously, step by deliberate step, away from me. When I looked at his feet, then my own, I realized that we were walking in sync. We continued this slow waltz for less than a minute, and as I ambled along, I couldn't help but wonder how many more times I could lift my knee before this master would simply lift his wings and disappear into the sun.
Lift he did, and as I made my way through the last few miles, my pace quickly followed.