It was the dappled glow of the late-summer sun that finally revived Celeste, warming her body, soothing her aches.

She sat up and blinked, trying to take in her strange surroundings. Tall sycamore trees towered overhead, their roots twisted and arched and sculpted by the riverbank. A jungle of purple, yellow, and white wildflowers, most of them beaten down by the rainstorm, was being visited by scores of brightly colored butterflies. Celeste had never seen anything so dazzling.

But she paid little attention to the beauty of butterflies. She was starving. Every bit of her energy had been spent in surviving the storm. Glancing around, she found some soft grass blades and nibbled at those. She made her way along the sandy riverbank slowly; found jewelweed seeds, some wild cherries that had blown to the ground, and a small beetle; and quickly gobbled them down.

She was totally disoriented—which way was the plantation? Intuitively she figured she should head upstream, along the bank; but how far?

She was contemplating her next move when suddenly she was cast in shadow. An enormous bird swooped down at her, almost but not quite grabbing her with strong talons, and then landed with a flourish beside her. Celeste did a double flip in the air, landing on all fours, ready to race away. But the bird didn’t attack; in fact, it looked at her curiously and asked a question: “Are you out of your cotton-pickin’ mind? What are you doing way out here in the middle of the day? You should be under cover somewhere—somewhere safe and protected—’cause something’s going to want to eat a little tidbit like you, sweetheart!”

Celeste was so surprised she could barely say anything. “I…I…” she stammered.

“I understand perfectly, darlin’,” the bird said. “You’re lost, you’re covered with dried mud, you look like a drowned rat, and I bet you’re hungry enough to eat a dead polecat. Am I right?”

Celeste couldn’t help but giggle. “Yes! Do I really look like a drowned rat?”

“You do indeed, honey pie. You take a ride on a mighty big raindrop last night? That was a humdinger of a storm!”

Celeste smiled. She liked this big bird! He had huge, golden yellow eyes that twinkled and a sharp beak that smiled. His wing feathers were dark brown, his chest creamy white with tawny streaks and spots. There was something slightly amusing about him that made Celeste feel safe and happy at the same time.

He continued. “I was way, way up in the air; and I looked down and I said, ‘Lafayette’—that’s my name, sugar plum, Lafayette—well, anyways, I looked down and I said to myself I said, ‘Self, now, that looks like somebody in trouble; that’s what I think. I need to go check on that one, like any good osprey would do’ and I circled a couple of times and then swooped down, and here I am! Now, what I want to know is, are you in trouble or not?”

Celeste thought she’d better answer honestly. “Yes, I guess I am, Lafayette. I got swept up in the rainstorm last night, and the current carried me here. I don’t know where I am!”

“Lost, huh?” Lafayette scrunched his face as he stretched out one wing, then the other. “Ooh! That feels good! Been flying all morning.” He sighed.

“Your wings are amazing…. Is it fun to fly?” asked Celeste.

“Well,” said the osprey, “I guess I never thought much about it. You’re high up, of course, and so you can see quite a ways. It’s quiet, and very green, because there’s mile after mile of treetops—tall, tall sycamores—just the river and fields in between.”

“Sounds lovely,” murmured Celeste.

“Most of the time I spend sailing up and down the river,” the osprey continued. “I know every snag, every shallow, all the good trees to sit in. Up and down, up and down, miles and miles along the river.”

“I live at the plantation, in the house. Do you know the plantation near here? I want to get home.”

“Well, there’s lots of plantations ’round these parts. Lots of ’em. You say you live in a plantation house?” He eyed Celeste doubtfully. “Well, well. Which one is yours?”

“It’s a big house, with big magnolia trees around it. There are some barns, and horses; and a family lives there, and so do I.”

“Hmm. You’re a long way from home, that’s for sure, dumplin’. The closest plantation is quite a ways. There’s the big plantation beyond the cypress woods, and the big plantation out on past the bayou, and…” Lafayette continued talking, telling Celeste about his brother-in-law up the river and his second cousin once removed down the river…chattering away while Celeste was formulating an idea.

She interrupted him. “Um, Lafayette,” she said. “Could you meet me right here at this very spot tomorrow, say right about sunup?”

“Why, sure, sweet potata. I can be here any time you say. But what for?”

“I want you to help me get home.”

“Now, how do you figure I can do that? You gonna hang on to my claws? Ride on my back? That’s a little dangerous, don’t you think?”

“I’ve got a plan, and I think it will work. Will you be here?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be here. You want to tell me what the plan is?”

“I think I’ll surprise you, Lafayette!”

“Okeydokey, I like surprises. I can wait to hear about your mysterious little plan. And now that I know you’re all right, will you pardon me while I continue on with my fishing trip?” With a series of strong flaps, he lifted into the air. “Toodle-oo!” he called from high above the sycamores. “Now, you be careful!”

Celeste was alone again.