Menomonee River Valley-2005-2007

Water Inspired Panels

Modern Valley Inspiration

Glacial Panels

Woodland Cycles in Nature

Ancient & Modern Grasses

River Life

Heron Rises From The Dark, Summer Pond

So heavy

is the long-necked, long-bodied heron,

always it is a surprise

when her smoke-colored wings

 

open

and she turns

from the thick water,

from the black sticks

 

of the summer pond,

and slowly

rises into the air

and is gone.

 

Then, not for the first or the last time,

I take the deep breath

of happiness, and I think

how unlikely it is

 

that death is a hole in the ground,

how improbable

that ascension is not possible,

though everything seems so inert, so nailed

 

back into itself--

the muskrat and his lumpy lodge,

the turtle,

the fallen gate.

 

And especially it is wonderful

that the summers are long

and the ponds so dark and so many,

and therefore it isn't a miracle

 

but the common thing,

this decision,

this trailing of the long legs in the water,

this opening up of the heavy body

 

into a new life: see how the sudden

gray-blue sheets of her wings

strive toward the wind; see how the clasp of nothing

takes her in.

 

Mary Oliver

 

Such Singing in the Wild Branches

 

It was spring

and finally I heard him

among the first leaves -

then I saw him clutching the limb

in an island of shade

with his red-brown feathers

all trim and neat for the new year.

First, I stood still

and thought of nothing.

Then I began to listen.

Then I was filled with gladness -

and that's when it happened,

when I seemed to float,

to be, myself, a wing or a tree -

and I began to understand

what the bird was saying,

and the sands in the glass

stopped

for a pure white moment

while gravity sprinkled upward

like rain, rising,

and in fact

it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing -

it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed

not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,

and also the trees around them,

as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds

in the perfectly blue sky - all, all of them

were singing.

And, of course, yes, so it seemed,

so was I.

Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last

for more than a few moments.

It's one of those magical places wise people

like to talk about.

One of the things they say about it, that is true,

is that, once you've been there,

you're there forever.

Listen, everyone has a chance.

Is it spring, is it morning?

Are there trees near you,

and does your own soul need comforting?

Quick, then - open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song

may already be drifting away.

 

Mary Oliver

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More information about the Menomonee Valley

Overview of the Valley Renewal Project

A History of the Valley by John Gurda

The Changing Landscape