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I Love The Place Where The Egrets Go
I come for the promise of birds and because sometimes it’s the first deep breath I take all day
The place where the egrets go is exactly 7.3 miles from my house. A road with an ancient graveyard is my landmark. I make the left turn when I see the last headstone and drive to where the trail waits for me.
The road curves alongside the Hudson River like an asphalt snake. For the first half mile or so, there are only glimpses of the river, but that’s enough for the knot of tension in my back to loosen as my car glides toward the spot where the egrets gather.
It’s the first time I’m going there at dusk and I’m hoping to get the place to myself. I can be selfish. I have been selfish, fervently praying that there are no cars or people — no one to witness my slow journey to the tiny hill that offers a perfect view of the river.
There is a lighthouse here, sturdy and weather-worn. Today, I see it light up for the first time.
There’s one car in the parking lot when I arrive and I curse under my breath, then decide it’s no big deal. They were here first. I’m the…