The Elder Egret

(This story is dedicated to the Red-Shouldred Hawk who watched me ride my bicycle near Banister Park from a puddle on the side of the road and to the swift Doe who crossed my path later, cutting through the four-second lead the cyclist ahead of me had.)

The Elder Egret

12/5/2010

It was early. I ate my eggs and toast as the sun came up, barely high enough to reflect some distant hint that it would be here as soon as the snooze alarm went off again in the window across from mine that looks into my neighbor's game room. I was twenty miles down the highway, Northbound on Interstate Five on my six-hundred cc Honda Shadow, before I needed my sunglasses.

After I needed my sunglasses, but long before I stopped for my second breakfast one tank of gas north from Sacramento, I saw a flock of Egrets. Maybe "flock" is the wrong word for them, though. A "flock of pigeons" sounds right. Egrets don't seem to travel in flocks, though. More of "congregations." They bring with them a sense of near-holiness, a solemness that other birds don't match. Even hawks and owls don't quite get to that level. A hawk is solitary - a solo hunter - a lone wolf, as it were. But Egrets are always together. One never sees an Egret alone, or at least very rarely. There's always at least one other one not too far away as though they need someone nearby to remind them that the rest of the world is still spinning along with them.

I saw this congregation of Egrets wading in the water off to the right side of the road with the sun just peeking over the edge of the flat, grassy horizon, almost silhouetting the birds as I passed. With my engine rumbling beneath me and an eighteen-wheeler on my left, the congregation rose, like church-goers when the priest raises his sacred snack on high. They rose up and took flight, just as I was passing.

It's easy to believe that those birds took no note of me whatsoever and that they were simply bored of wading in that particular position in that particular accumulation of fluid, but I could feel them. It was like a part of me rose up with them and flew along for a while before returning to my two fixed wheels on the ground. While I flew with them, one looked over and said, "good morning."

"Good morning, to you," I said.

"Where are you off to?" on asked me, shaking her sleek white head, dispelling water into the biting dawn air.

"Seattle," I said.

"Seattle! No kidding," the gentleman to my right mused. "You're just going straight up to Seattle on a motorcycle?"

"Well, not exactly," I replied. "I'm stopping in Ashland to see some plays, then meeting up with an old friend outside of Tacoma or Portland, and then to Seattle. Then back to Sacramento with some family visits on the way back down."

"Sound to me," the grizzled-looking Egret, obviously the eldest, croaked, "like you're off on a journey, not to a destination."

The other Egrets mumbled and nodded, approving of the clairvoyant wisdom and insight this elder Egret possessed and shared. They seemed impressed and reverent that he had shared his thoughts with me, a lowly ground-walker. His gifts must be a rare treat, even among the creatures of the sky.

"That sounds right," I said humbly. "I am off on a journey."

"May you fly on powdered wings and find safe ground upon which you may rest," the congregation sang in perfect four-part harmony.

"And may you all as well," I replied, like the good little Catholic I once was.

I returned to my body and once again felt the hot engine between my knees, the quivering handlebars in front of me, the weight of my bags behind me and the pull of the Earth's gravity. I looked up one last time and waved to the congregation who had made me one of them for a fleeting moment. They flew on and so did I.

Several weeks later, I was not much father North than I was when I met the elder Egret and his congregation. Though, I was facing the other way this time. Heading South, my journey nearly at an end. This time, it was midday, around Noon or maybe one o'clock. And it was hot. I had stripped away all of my extra layers and linings of my jacket and stuffed them in my backpack at the last gas station I'd stopped at where there was a diner named for my ex-girlfriend's ex-roommate, Cozy. Even with most of my layers doffed, I was sweating terribly. The sun was merciless and at seventy miles per hour, the wind was scorching. The heat only served to worsen my mood. Shasta Pass was hours behind me, now, and Seattle days away. My journey was nearly at an end and I would go back to the life I had tried to escape, even if temporarily, on two wheels and an engine. Just as I was thinking about this and getting depressed for the first time in almost thirty seconds, a glint of light caught my eye off to the right.

The congregation had returned to welcome me back! As they landed on the bank (to the West of the road, this time), the lovely and formerly damp young lady, called out to me,

"Welcome home!" she shouted.

"Thanks..." I dejectedly replied.

"You don't sound glad to see us," the young male chastised.

"Oh it's not that," I said. "I'm just sad that my journey is at an end and that I won't see the Emerald City and all my friends for many more months."

"How can your journey be at an end," the elder abrasively growled. "You live, do you not?"

"I do," I said.

"You dream, do you not?" the elder rumbled.

"I do," I said.

"Then how," the elder roared, "can your journey be ever at an end?"

Silence fell among the congregation. I too, fell silent and hung my head, ashamed that I had disappointed the elder Egret so terribly. He waded over to me where my spirit had slumped and he put his wings around me, lifting my chin from my chest with his long, rapier beak.

"Do not feel ashamed," the elder said, his voice now like that of a beautiful young woman with sad green eyes, "for you have learned much and you are now ready to begin your journey."

A tear streamed down my sweaty, dust-coated face.

"Thank you, elder Egret," my voice shivered. "I shall now begin my journey."

Before I could blink the elder Egret had sent me back to my bike and I was, once more, rumbling Southbound on Interstate Five among SUV's, eighteen-wheelers and mini-vans. It was still hot. I was still sad. But I was beginning my journey.