My Great Blue Heron

I find myself sitting by the River once again. The tide now low creates a generous opportunity for one unique creature. The Great Blue Heron on display—now able to tread further from the banks of security toward the inviting middle. The long legs of this majestic bird make room for deeper waters and hopefully a passing fish. Once positioned, patience settles that often seems motionless—the long-necked beauty stares over the vitreous river surface, seeing movements elusive to the human eye. Simultaneously, my eyes are fascinated by the subtleties of the heron's effortless grace. Suddenly, grace interrupted—as the long neck juts into the water like a spear—deadly accurate and a small fish secured. This morsel proves to be a scanty score—more is required to satiate this beauty. The ritual continues—more patience—more grace—and more fish are needed. In between these bouts of hunting, the heron bellows out a call that resembles a duck quack and a small dog's bark. Who or what is this solo hunter calling to? Now, traipsing back to the bank one careful step at a time hoping to garner a greater view, this dance between hunter and hunted will ensue. I lay witness to this dance fascinated with my own graceful air as my stomach reminds me with its own call—it's time to eat.