Where the Heron Flew

She plodded along on bare feet down the hot gravel road. The air was thick with heat and moisture. She always imagined that feeling as if it was a big, warm, wet hug that completely engulfed the body. It was late summer, but the heat and humidity were both still very strong. But she didn't mind. This is what she had always known. 

She continued her way through the stillness. The air was hot , but the sun was hidden by the the overcast sky. Besides a slight breeze that fluttered through the trees, the atmosphere was calm and still. A quiet afternoon for a solitary walk.

Suddenly, the calm was broken by a rush of wind, except it wasn't wind; it was the flapping of wings. There, through the trees, right over the winding creek, a huge heron flapped his wings vigorously as he reached for freedom. In wonder, the girl stopped to watch this bird as it finally broke through the trees and soared freely and beautifully into the summer sky. His huge wings soon took him far beyond and out of sight. But that glorious moment stayed with her.

She had seen him before, downstream a little ways. She loved to see such a large bird soaring into the sky, unhindered and free. He was a rare sighting, which made him more special. There was something magnificent about the Great Blue Heron, often seen alone, yet full of his own touch of grace and strength. Maybe that was why he needed no one. He was strong enough. She knew she could never be strong like that, and as far as gracefulness should go, she had always been a clumsy, wild little thing. 

So, she would adore the thing that had both and quietly go on in life without either.