It was a Sunday. It was a cold, cold morning. I was shivering yet glad to be outside, my legs walking and my breath breathing in the fresh air. Crossing over the bridge I looked down into the creek, my eyes searching for the heron who often wades there in the water, waiting with its thick dagger-like beak, poised for some fish to dare to swim by. The interesting thing was that the heron’s long neck and long legs appeared to have disappeared into its chest. The water must’ve been so very cold.
We gazed and watched with wonder at the vision of this magnificent bird. And then as if it was shy and didn’t want to be observed, it turned, lifting and curling its long neck, opening its great wings, lofting its entire body slowly upward. It flew off, its long legs trailing well beyond its tail. And the heron was gone.
