The sun is rising, and in the distance, I can see the fishing boats of the fishermen departing.
I decide to change the route of my morning run. I know it's early, but it's the only time I can afford to do it, and there are times of the year when I just can't do without it. I head towards the bridge. It is then that I notice what appears to be a heron. I recognize it immediately. It is beautiful, unmistakable for its stately elegance. Still, motionless. Every time I see one, I remember Baudelaire and his "Albatross," and right after that, it always happens, I tell myself that it has nothing to do with it, because they are two different birds. The albatross is not the heron. I stop. And after a few moments, here it is, taking flight, as in Ovid's Metamorphoses. I am amazed by this coincidence because, like the heron, I too feel a bit grounded. A smile escapes me. I turn around and resume my morning run.