Every night I look out of my window. There she is, stood lonely atop the lichen-stippled rock, surrounded by the gentle swash of the Juan de Fuca waves.
‘Good night, Henrietta,’ I’ll bid on occasions, whilst on others I will merely nod.
It is, of course, likely that she – with her curved neck and fine bill – knows little of my observing eyes, but it feels right to acknowledge others; heron or human, featherless or otherwise.
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I often watch the herons catching fish in the evenings by the edge of the river. Such graceful birds.
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They are Maria, very beautiful indeed.
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Beautiful.
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Love the simplicity of the illustration.
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We have a resident Great Blue Heron on our little creek. He only just left in early December, I presume because of thickening ice and poor fishing conditions. He kind of reminded me of a cartoon undertaker, hunch-backed and solemn.
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You must live somewhere rather chilly, will he be back next year? What a perfect description of a great blue heron, or any heron for that matter.
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Oh yes, he’ll/she’ll be back or one of his relatives. It’s good habitat for frogs and fish. I’ll know it’s spring!
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