Twenty-four blackbirds perched on a fence, observing a great blue heron in the drainage ditch before them. The ditch itself had about six inches of water in it, remnants of the previous night’s storm. The heron wasn’t doing anything in particular besides just standing there, and yet the blackbirds were fascinated with it anyway.
The blackbirds were silent, aside from their feathery jostlings of each other as each nudged another to be the first to say anything. And for several long moments, none of them did. Finally, one of them did work up its nerve to brave speaking to the heron.
“Dear heron, ma’am, what are you doing?” it asked.
The heron, not looking at the blackbird, replied simply, “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Just standing there,” the blackbird replied. Proud of its answer, it puffed up its chest, and the other blackbirds muttered their approval.
“What looks to you like standing,” replied the heron, “is in actuality pondering.”
“And what are you pondering?” another blackbird asked, finding its voice now that the silence had been broken.
“Oh, this and that and some other things,” said the heron.
“Such as…” said a third blackbird.
Now the heron turned its head to look at them. “Nothing of great importance,” it said to them. “Why is the sky blue? How does the wind lift my wings when I fly? Why are there no fish in this ditch?”
There was silence for several minutes then, the heron contemplating its thoughts, the blackbirds contemplating the heron’s words. Then another blackbird, on the end and far older than the others, spoke up.
“I know what you really are,” it croaked.
The heron merely cocked its head. “Do you now?”
“You’re divinity,” the blackbird squawked. “A goddess.”
The heron cocked its head the other direction and started more closely at the blackbird. “What do you know of divinity, little blackbird?” The heron asked.
“Not much,” the old blackbird admitted. “But I know you are it.”
“You are more astute than these others,” it said. “What gave me away?”
The blackbird raised its wings slightly, a sort of blackbird shrug. “Your energy, for starters. It’s more… defined, more intense. I can feel it.”
“Interesting,” said the heron. “What else?”
“There’s a golden hue to the edges of your feathers. I doubt any of these others can even see it, but I’m more experienced. You are not the first such creature I have met.”
The heron gave the blackbird a cunning look. “You have terrific eyes, old one, and excellent senses. Do you wish a boon of me?”
The blackbird shook its head. “Not at all, wise one. It is enough for me to bask in your presence.”
The other blackbirds were silent by now. At least half didn’t believe the heron was a goddess. The others were in various stages of awe, impressed, or amused.
One of the other blackbirds, far younger than the others, just a fledgling really, spoke next. Its voice shook with nervous agitation.
“Where is your flock, wise goddess heron?”
The heron dipped its head and was silent for a long moment, so long that the blackbirds thought it might not answer the question. A couple thought the heron might be angry at the impertinent question. But all they could do was wait to see how the great bird would react.
Finally, the great blue heron lifted its head and turned its gaze upon the small flock of blackbirds.
“My flock is everywhere and nowhere. It is made up of whomever I deem worthy. Right this moment, you are my flock. Before, my flock was other herons. Sometimes, it is other birds, but always my flock is chosen. It is ever changing, ever shifting, but always my flock is loved, respected. Bear in mind who you invite into your flock.”
And with that, the heron was finished speaking and turned away from the blackbirds. For their part the blackbirds continued to sit on the fence for a time, perhaps contemplating the heron’s words.
Then, one by one, each of the blackbirds took flight again. Some chose to flock together, others did not. Soon the heron was alone once more — but also not alone. For one little blackbird returned to land on the fence beside the heron. It was the youngest blackbird, the fledgling, the asker of impertinent questions.
“I would like to be part of your flock, great blue heron, goddess — if you will allow me,” the little bird said.
The heron nodded. “My road is not easy,” it replied. “Be sure that you know what you ask.”
The blackbird thought for a moment, then said, “I do know. I am not afraid.”
“Very well,” said the heron. “You are welcome to fly with me for as long as you will.”
And together, they became a flock of two, which sometimes grew and sometimes shrank, but always there was love and respect and growth and learning. The little blackbird grew wise beyond all others. It stayed with the heron until it was old and grey and its feathers were tattered at the edges.
“It’s my time,” said the blackbird to the heron. “What will you do now?”
“The same as always,” came the heron’s reply.
“Will you miss me?” asked the blackbird.
“I miss all my flock who no longer fly with me,” the heron said, “but I will miss you most of all.”
“Then I am content,” said the blackbird, and it laid down its head for a never-ending rest.
The heron dipped its head to pay tribute to its friend. Then it spread its wings and leapt into the sky.
