The Grey Heron
<p>Itwas a sad, cold, gray day, as we sometimes go through. My car was bobbing along the country roads of my childhood, the trunk loaded with supplies meant to keep me alive and to make me feel good. Living a few miles from where you grew up is like watching a rainbow appear and then fade away. Sometimes joyful memories catch up with us like a child running back to the comforting arms of his mother. And other times we are filled with nostalgia for a bygone era and a vanished life. That day, as I drove towards my lifeless apartment, the past caught up with me again. Lying next to each other on our lawn chairs, just at the end of the driveway lined with our fruit trees, my mother and I were looking up at the clear sky, praying for the shooting stars of the Perseids to caress our faces. </p>
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