Alan Harland

Tales of Feral Youth Alan Harland

I was very young. It was one of my first forays into the deeper woods alone. I had somehow eluded my mother's watchful eye (there were five others devising various means of escape also). I had been to this place with my brothers, and walked through a cut in a stone wall down a short path to a pond. As my view opened onto the water, I knew instinctively to freeze. I lowered myself slowly down to make myself less conspicuous, and watched. On a raft that neighborhood boys had built was a heron that had caught a large bullfrog, and was tearing it apart live to eat. My heart ached for the unfortunate frog, yet I held no malice toward the heron. I felt a revelation in my heart at having witnessed one small act in God's Great Nature.