Epilogue
Walking back from the Memorial, I meandered through the trees and the jogging trails skirting the water. Night had set in, and I was somehow melancholy for the friend I'd seen soar away in such a harried rush. As I broke the tree line and came into the clearing, a joyous sight met my eyes: a white heron—my white heron—in swift grace descending the Monument and heading straight for me. He rose and dipped, in elegant control, his wings catching this waft and that, until he approached the perch from which he'd launched. I watched as he swooped up to light upon the branch, then abruptly changed his mind and headed on out of sight over the Memorial, down toward the fertile waters of the Potomac. As he flew away, I realized that he was doing ...
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