The Song of the Heron
In the heart of an ancient forest, beside a tranquil lake that mirrored the sky, lived an old heron with feathers as white as moonlight. Every day, the heron stood at the lake’s edge, still as a statue, staring into the water. The fish darted away in fear, but the heron never hunted them. Instead, he was transfixed by what he saw in the lake’s reflection — a shimmering image of himself, regal and untouchable.
The heron believed the reflection held his essence. When the sun cast its golden light on his feathers, the lake glowed with brilliance. When the wind rippled the water, the reflection danced, and the heron, entranced, thought it was a vision of perfection. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into years, but the heron’s vigil never faltered. He forgot the sky. He forgot the songs of the other birds. All he knew was the reflection.
One day, a tempest rolled in from the mountains. The winds roared, and the calm lake became a churning sea of chaos. Waves lashed against the shore, shattering the mirror-like surface. The heron’s reflection fragmented into shards of light and disappeared. He cried out, a raw, mournful sound that echoed through the forest. In a frenzy, he flapped his wings and took to the stormy skies.
For hours, he soared above the forest, searching desperately for his reflection. But there was no other lake, no other mirror, that could…
