A heron

A heron stood shyly on the bank of Jordan Lake, frozen, as if it were waiting to receive something. I watched it for a mere second or two from the car as we whizzed over the bridge. Guion was talking about music and I was listening and watching. The heron was still, patient. I wondered when I would be that quiet.

When he laughs, it electrifies my spirit and sharpens my focus. I like making him laugh, but part of me likes watching him laugh–detached from me, as he has an experience that I cannot fully understand but can yet wholly appreciate.

A mix of the mundane and the everyday fictional.

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