This morning as I headed to work, the car wheel turned right toward town and the river, instead of left toward school. The unexpected detour felt beyond my control, so I just gave in–Well, honestly, I didn’t struggle too much. Apparently my will power was weak, and the lure of a brightly colored dawn was strong.
Down by the river I marveled at the glowing reds, roses, golds and greys. I parked and grabbed my camera to snap a picture or two. I walked out onto the dock, my steps sending ripples shimmering across the reflected clouds.
As I walked, something made me look up. Overhead a heron flew by, its strong wings flapping, its silhouette unmistakable. I stopped in my tracks, so grateful to see it, awed by its silent dawn flight. Where had it been? Where was it going?
The stress of the week receded, and I stood, camera forgotten, simply watched the heron fly until it was out of sight. I wondered idly if it might be the last one I’d see until the spring. I was so thankful I’d been there to see it. So thankful I took that right turn.