Through the fog, storms, and mayhem a little blue heron huddled in waiting. He knew he couldn't take flight.

All that held him to the ground, pinned in place, broke his spirit a tiny bit.

Knowing the storm would have an end. He held on to thoughts of freedom and flight.

Beak tucked in, eyes closed, while dreams of Eskimos filled his head.

You see, he was a dreamer that one. The little blue heron wanted to fly to places he was forbidden to go. He knew in the end if he ventured that far, he would never come back alive or dead. Held as he was by all around him, dreaming was all he had left to believe in.

Being at the age of between, he also knew his time to dream was soon at an end. Responsibilities, too soon, would take hold. He would be left with just visions in his head. Deeper he burrowed into the nest, snuggling closer to his siblings. Taking comfort in the sound of their snoring they did each night. Wishing still for the unknown.

Daybreak came, sun on his wings, the little blue heron opened his eyes.

The day had finally come. It was time. His time. Time leave the nest but not like the rest. He knew deep in his bones he was made different than all the rest. Today was his. His time to fly. Places unknown, waiting just for him.