You don’t need my wings…

A little while ago a friend told me I should write a travel blog, about all the places I’ve been. I was flattered and realised with renewed gratitude, the wonderful opportunities I have had. This song is one that I wrote during my wander-years, as a young, impressionable 18 year old that wanted to save the world.

I left home when I was 18 and went to Sri Lanka to teach conversational English and do social work in a rural area called Dambulla. It was an assault on the senses, and put me on a path for life towards coming towards who I really wanted to be. The first weekend we were there, there – shockingly – were no nightclubs, which had been my previous habitat, and my project partner Katy and myself were scratching about for something to do. We were living next to a beautiful, ancient reservoir, affectionately referred to as a ‘tank’ by the locals. These were built by the ancient kings on account of the fact that there are no rivers in Sri Lanka, to provide water across the country. They still work today – clever old sticks those ancient kings – but now they look like huge, beautiful, natural lakes. Small seas when the water is high in monsoon season.

So we were asking our new friends – what is there to do at the weekend? And the resounding reply was – go for a walk around the tank. So we went.

It was September, and so the tank was pretty high. We took a walk on the bank, and I had never seen anything so exotic in my life. People from the village were fishing – some from the bank, some floating in inner-tubes in the middle of the vast lake – seemingly wild cows and bulls (they did belong to someone apparently) were grazing at the waters’ edge, our local ‘elephant boys’ were washing two elephants, and I saw the most beautiful, pure white bird standing in the shallows. As we approached, this stunningly beautiful bird unfurled its enormous wingspan and took flight, soaring right above us. It was so free and exotic, that it became a symbol in my mind for the rite of passage I was experiencing. That bird, became a tune, the tune became a song…

The Heron

The heron stood and he looked at me, began to fly away
Then he said ‘come follow me’
So I spread my wings, and flew from the nest
In my tree

Fly
Fly
Wait for me
In the sky

So we flew over the lake at Kandalama
And I saw my life anew
And the heron he saw me smile, told me ‘you can fly
You don’t need my wings, you just need you,
And yours’

So fly
Fly
Don’t wait for me
I’ll meet you in the sky

So when my heron
Flies through my mind
I have to know that I am brave
I’ll make it home
And the feelings that I’m alone
Fly away