Ines wants to see the heron. The heron wants her to keep still.
On Sunday, Papa woke Ines while the sky was still grey. They put their coats on over their pyjamas and walked down to the canal. Nobody else was up. Not even the ducks.
“The heron comes here,” said Papa. “Tall and grey, with legs like sticks. But only if you’re still.” “How still?” said Ines. “Be a heron,” said Papa. And he stood like a lamp post.
Ines stood still. She stood still for ages and ages. She counted to eleven. “Is it coming?” “Be a heron,” said Papa.
Ines tried standing on a tree root, to be taller. She wobbled. She hopped. She hopped right into a puddle. SPLASH. One duck woke up to see what the noise was. It was not a heron.
Ines tried being quiet. She was so quiet she could hear her own nose. Then her nose sneezed. Three ducks and a moorhen left in a hurry. “Be a heron,” said Papa, a bit more quietly.
“Herons are boring,” said Ines. She stuck her hands in her pockets. Her left boot was full of puddle, so she stood on her right leg. She looked at nothing at all.
Then something came gliding low over the water. Something grey, with its neck tucked in. It unfolded two long legs. It landed on the far bank. It stood on one leg, and looked at nothing at all.
Ines didn’t move. Papa didn’t move. (Papa was on one leg too.) Three herons stood by the canal, and nobody said anything for a long, long time.
At last the heron opened its wings and flew away over the bridge. Ines put her foot down. Her boot went squelch. “Did you see?” whispered Papa. “Shh,” said Ines. “Be a heron.” The end.
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Ines wants to see the heron. The heron wants her to keep still.
On Sunday, Papa woke Ines while the sky was still grey. They put their coats on over their pyjamas and walked down to the canal. Nobody else was up. Not even the ducks.
“The heron comes here,” said Papa. “Tall and grey, with legs like sticks. But only if you’re still.” “How still?” said Ines. “Be a heron,” said Papa. And he stood like a lamp post.
Ines stood still. She stood still for ages and ages. She counted to eleven. “Is it coming?” “Be a heron,” said Papa.
Ines tried standing on a tree root, to be taller. She wobbled. She hopped. She hopped right into a puddle. SPLASH. One duck woke up to see what the noise was. It was not a heron.
Ines tried being quiet. She was so quiet she could hear her own nose. Then her nose sneezed. Three ducks and a moorhen left in a hurry. “Be a heron,” said Papa, a bit more quietly.
“Herons are boring,” said Ines. She stuck her hands in her pockets. Her left boot was full of puddle, so she stood on her right leg. She looked at nothing at all.
Then something came gliding low over the water. Something grey, with its neck tucked in. It unfolded two long legs. It landed on the far bank. It stood on one leg, and looked at nothing at all.
Ines didn’t move. Papa didn’t move. (Papa was on one leg too.) Three herons stood by the canal, and nobody said anything for a long, long time.
At last the heron opened its wings and flew away over the bridge. Ines put her foot down. Her boot went squelch. “Did you see?” whispered Papa. “Shh,” said Ines. “Be a heron.” The end.