The Heron

The Heron

Half a mile from home, at the far edge of the woods where the land was highest, a great pine tree stood. The top of this ancient tree towered above all the others and made it visible for miles and miles. Sylvia had always believed that whoever climbed to the top of it could see the ocean. Now she thought of the tree with a new excitement. Why, if she climbed at dawn, would she not be able to see the whole world, and discover where the white heron flew, and find its hidden nest?

What an adventure! As she lay awake in her bed, she thought of the glory and triumph of telling everyone the secret of where the heron hid. Sylvia knew her mother and her guest were fast asleep, so she crept out of the house and followed the path through the woods. The air was filled with the sleepy songs of half-awakened birds.

There was the huge tree, seeming to sleep in the fading moonlight. Sylvia bravely began to climb, the blood racing through her veins, her bare hands and feet gripping the bark. First she had to climb the oak tree that grew alongside. Sylvia felt her way easily. She had often climbed there before, and knew that higher up one of the oak’s upper branches rubbed against the pine trunk. When she had reached it, the way was harder than she had thought. The sharp twigs scratched her, and the sticky pine sap made her little fingers clumsy and stiff.

The tree seemed to grow taller as she climbed, and she began to doubt if she could reach her goal before dawn. But Sylvia passed the last thorny branch, her face shining with triumph as she stood at the very top, weak and shaking with exhaustion.

There was the sea, dazzling in the first morning light. Two hawks flew east, so far below her she felt she, too, might fly away among the clouds. The birds sang louder and louder until the sun came up.

This beauty almost overwhelmed little Sylvia, but she did not forget her mission. Where was the white heron? She looked down to the green marsh where she had seen him before. There he was, rising and sweeping towards the great pine tree. He landed, and Sylvia froze as she watched the heron, perched two branches below, calling to his mate, cleaning his feathers for the new day.