saying goodnight to a bird, a piano man, and an accordian

She and the heron sat there for awhile staring at each other. He was cold, his head tucked into his chest-white feathers, trying to keep warm on the city banks of the river of Nantes. What he was doing there she had no idea, but she was glad to have his company. It was cold, her eyes, blurred by the wind, made the lights of the streets one with the wet pavement and the water with the neon lights. It was refreshing, being on the bridge but outside of the traffic and the giggles of passer-bys. She waved goodbye to the bird and they watched each other as she walked up the bank, as crowds trudged through the thin layer of snow - unaware of both of them - and that was great. She climbed a wall and tried to get her hands as dirty as possible. She looked back to see if he was still there - he was, she felt sorry he was so cold. From the top of the bricks she bid a pleasant sleep to the men who were making up their beds under the bridge and headed towards the cathedral, her different shadows from the different lights making her dizzy. And a piano and an accordion were playing in the middle of the night. the sound grew louder and there they were right in the square in the shadow of the steeples of the cathedral - two of the towns resident street musicians who appear with their instruments on crowded shopping streets for centimes. But now they just played for themselves and they played beautifully and in their denim shirts and caps and gruffy beards and their shiny accordian and old yamaha, they were otherworldly.