One cold October day, as Heron lay on the couch, chubby, pale legs kicked out straight, her mother entered the room with loud footsteps that resonated through the china cabinet.

"Heron, come now, get your shoes," her mother, Priscilla, said, and stomped her way to the television, pushing four or five buttons simultaneously before finding the right one that set the image black. She always moved around like this, as if preparing herself for an evacuation.

"It's time to go. Get your shoes." Priscilla stormed off as quickly as she arrived. She was beautiful. Short hair, tanned skin, and a strangely athletic shape that Heron envied. She had once been the female tennis champion of the entire northeast, and a large golden trophy stowed away in the basement proved this.

Heron yawned once and waited, watching a cardinal land on the feeder outside the window. Great pine trees climbed to the second story. Beyond, the forest stretched on, murky and somewhat enchanted. Heron didn't believe in goblins or unicorns, yet had they existed, her backyard would make a suitable home.

"Heron," her mother called again, from the kitchen. After two slight thuds, a loud bang and a scuttling of metal on wood, Heron's mother appeared again, this time with Heron's shoes.

"Sit back," she instructed, and began unlacing one shoe.

"What was that noise?" Heron asked.

"Your dog fell down the stairs again," her mother responded. She forced the shoe onto Heron's foot.

"Oh,' Heron said. "He is so clumsy."

Shoes now tight, and constricting her feet, Heron wiggled her toes around, to little relief.

“These shoes are too tight,” Heron complained.

“Well, you can’t wear your knew ones.”

Heron’s Mom waited for her, watching her, afraid that if she didn’t, the little insolent girl would pull off her shoes and turn on the television.

“They will loosen up as we walk,” Priscilla promised.

Heron went into the foyer closet to retrieve her coat. At the foot of the stairs, their white Samoyan Husky slept.

“How far must we walk?”

“Oh, as far as we want.”

“I don’t really want to go at all, then.”

Priscilla stood in the open door with the cold autumn air.

“Fine, then I am going.” She turned and walked off, leaving the door open, and Heron standing in the foyer, her favorite coat half buttoned. After a moment, Heron walked out the door and caught up to her mother.