Andrew the Heron

The first glimpse out the window of Agnus Dei Hermitage this morning was of Andrew, a foot into the edge of Lake Immaculata, in silence, solitude and slowness. In fact, he was all but still until a train rumbled by.

Later I saw him glide a hundred or more feet to the end of the pond, where he proceeded to patiently fish.

The fog has lifted, the sun is breaking through overcast. I queried a Catholic newspaper I admire in case the editor is interested in what it is to learn to be a "complete hermit." I'd be surprised. It seems good to try, though, to hone the writing, but remain anonymous.

The glut of the world, the glut experienced last night and from being in a department store, to my detriment other than experiencing the results--is slowly, silently and in solitude, being soaked out of my system.

Now for a soaking in the tub. Pray. Allow the glut to be leached out of my exterior and interior.

It is Sunday, the Lord's Day, and one of Sabbath Rest.