Echo Heron

“Around midnight I finally dozed, drifting on a 1950 memory where I rode through the dark of another night in the front seat of an old Buick. Curled next to my father, I’d been sleeping when I was awakened by a roar which hurt my ears. I focused on the eerie orange and red light reflecting on my father’s face and timidly peeked over the rim of the window. In the distance a barn burned furiously, while a handful of men ran in and out of the flames, trying to save any piece of equipment they could. Even from where we were parked, I’d felt the heat. Then, somehow, my father became one of the men running toward the flames. Terrified, I waited, scarcely able to breathe until I saw him reappear out of the flames, leading a young horse with a rag wrapped about its eyes. The horse whinnied and pulled frantically on the lead rope while my father spoke softly, trying to calm it. Later, miles away from the flaming monster, he pinched my nose, his way of saying everything was all right. “It’s not right any creature should suffer like that,” he said. “We need to look out for those that can’t fend for themselves.”
― Echo Heron, INTENSIVE CARE