Johnathon put his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath, the sea air entering his muzzle, giving a tangy bite to the spring air.  The old bear looked down from where he stood near the edge of the cliff, and looked down the sheer drop to where the waves crashed a hundred below.  The spring morning was new, the sun only showing itself for a couple hours.  Carefully the aged animal took his hand out and looked at it, the fur on the back of his hand growing thin and lightening in color.  He used to be strong and fierce, the envy of his peers, but as do all things, he aged.  His once auburn fur was now a pale beige.  His fierce fangs were broken and chipped, and now they were only good to eat stewed carrots and potatoes.  His tall form was bent as his bones weakened and looked frail and nothing like the hunter he was so many years ago.  Johnathon brought his hand up and pushed back a lock of his thinning hair.  He looked up and away, seeing two far off seagulls circle together in a silent rhythm.  
     Even this old grizzly had to smile just a little.  Throughout his eighty years he always admired sea birds.  So graceful as they rode the ocean’s air currents.  They were like living kites, never tiring, letting winds do the work for them as they glided and saw the world from a vantage no one else could achieve.  A movement caught his eye and he turned very slowly.  No more then twenty feet he saw a tiny bird, chirping madly and terrified.  The grizzly lumbered over slowly and looked down.  The bird was so small, he knew he could easily close his hand around it.  Looking above it, he saw it must have fell out of the nest that was hidden in the depths of a thick bush.  Its siblings chirped as if trying to call for help from their parents.  The chirps and tweets were so helpless and meek yet he knew their calls would do no good.  Their parents could do nothing to raise it back to its safe home with its brothers and sisters.  
     Perhaps the parents could not, yet Johnathon could.  Very gently he bent over and picked up the frail avian with cupped hands, and raised it to its home.  Easily he released it and smiled as it burrowed with its nest mates, warming itself among them.  So easily he could save a tiny life, yet no matter what he could do, he knew he could save his own.  Placing his hands in his coat pocket he turned, and walked to the edge of the cliff.  He took a deep breath and as the air filled his lungs, he coughed harshly.  He placed a hand to his chest and the violent attack eased after a few moments.  Cringing, the bear looked out over the waves once again, the azure water brightening as the sun rose in the sky.  He wiped a tear from his eye, knowing he would have few sunrises left.  
     He went to the doctor a few weeks ago because he had some chest pains.  Never did he think the news would be so grim.  The disease was throughout him, spreading through his veins and slowly killing organ by organ as it crept.  The doctor could do nothing.  It was a disease that could not be cured, it laid in him for years, slowly growing, and now, he had but a few weeks left.  It would cripple him any time.  The walks he took to the cliff to greet the morning would be gone soon.  Johnathon would simply wake up one of these days and not be able to move.  The doctors all wanted him to stay in the hospital, but good would that do?  They said they could do nothing, so he wanted to live these last few days he had in the open air, and not in a hospital under the watch of a nurse.  For the same reason he didn’t tell his family.  There was no need to worry them.  They were happy and joyous, each of his four children having kids of their own.  In a way he had his own clan that flourished around the world.  He didn’t want to see any of them crying and saying goodbye to him.  
     Johnathon gave a last look, and turned to head back home to have his breakfast.  He paused a moment, the thought of breakfast and the morning entering his mind.  Every morning for over a decade, he would wake early, take a walk to this cliff and greet the morning and ocean.  He would then track own the short path to his home, and have a glass of coffee, a blueberry muffin and read the paper.  It was the way he started every single morning, yet at this moment it did not appeal to him.  Even now, in the last few days of his life, he still had a routine in his mind.  He turned back and stepped at the edge of the cliff and looked again out over the water.  What use was it to go back?  Suddenly the thought of breakfast turned his stomach. He didn’t want to go to his small home and wait for death.  It was not the way he lived.  
     Again Johnathon looked up, more seagulls joining the ones he saw earlier.  A dozen of them now glided far above him, their calls cutting through the salty air.  Again he thought about how carefree and wonderful their life must be.  To live among the clouds and to soar wherever they pleased.  That last thought caught in his mind.  
     Tilting his head and leaning a little, the bear looked far down where the ocean relentlessly battered the heavy stones, foam forming for a brief moment on the smooth stones before another wave crashed swallowed them.  Johnathon realized, that he wanted to be like the seagulls.  Even just once, he wanted to live as they do.  To soar, and be free, even for the briefest of moments.  This seemed right to him.  This made sense.  He would rather give all to experience this one feeling, then to live but a few days more, watching his own body devouring itself.  To end it quickly and painlessly seemed the only rational choice.  Slowly he took off his coat and set it on the grass beside him, and he stood on the edge of the cliff.  He raised his large head and looked up in the blue sky, smiling as he saw the clouds move so swiftly in the ocean wind.  He raised his arms and spread them wide as if embracing the entire scene.  With the sun bathing down on his furred face, he closed his eyes and with a sense of want and purpose, he leaned forward and fell.
     Three days later Johnathon’s family gathered to mourn him in his small house.  The adults were inside, some talking about his life, some mentioning how he made excellent stew, others just talking about scattered memories.  His family found the jacket, and they saw the tracks leading up to the cliff, and they knew what happened.  They searched for two days but they could only find his clothes, which layed in the rocks below the cliff.  It was as if his body simply vanished.  Some wept, some smiled weakly, others kept quiet.  Each one felt a loss in they’re own way, except for one.  Sara was a young cub, not yet five years old.  She sat on the front step of the house and just looked at the sky, trying to make shapes out of the puffy clouds.  She didn’t understand why everyone was upset, and thought it a nice day, so came outside.  She pondered the clouds until something caught her eye.  She looked to her right and saw a huge shape, slowly circling in the sky.  It was a large bird, one she had not seen before.  For a few moments it simply flew above the house, then it came down.  With a quick and strong flap of its large wings, it settled by the side of the house.  Sara looked at the bird and was not scared at all, but did not understand it.  A tall and graceful heron stepped towards her a few paces on its long legs and turned its head, its eyes meeting her own for a single moment.  Suddenly the cub shrieked and with a flurry of wings and feathers, the heron took off, heading towards the cliff and to the sea beyond it.  The adults rushed out, terrified the cub hurt herself, yet when they opened the front door, they saw the young girl jumping up and down and laughing wildly.  They looked about not understanding, and didn’t see the great heron softly soar away.  Sara squealed happily and waved at the bird.  ‘Goodbye grandpa!  I luv you!’