HINT OF INFINITY

While walking one of our usual paths down along the small river toward the lake this afternoon, as we came to where the river passed under the lakeside road I saw a small bird suddenly hit the water in the shadow of the bridge and fly on toward me. I'd never seen any bird that size around here fish the water in flight. I was above, on the high riverbank; the bird flew on past me upriver through the tall reeds, a feathered blur, its wings buzzing mightily-- almost like a large hummingbird, except hummingbirds don't fish, and perhaps even more relevantly, there are no hummingbirds in Japan.

As the little bird zipped straight past below me, its back feathers suddenly and magically flashed a solid stripe of electric blue for about the 30 or so meters that it remained in sight, flying low and steadfastly upriver. The color told me what bird it was: it was a kawasemi. I had never seen one around here before.

That unexpected light -- flashing along the air with a purpose of its own, clearly evolved for revelation to an eye in just this way -- was like the gleam of forever breaking through into now, and then the air was closed again.

A hint of infinity doesn't take long.