Heron, Graceful Hunter
Gulls, ducks, and other maritime birds caw and splash busily in the shallows. They chatter, play, hunt for food, like gossiping teenagers in a mall food court. Dispersed among the commotion are five methodical, poised Great Blue Herons. Their deliberate movement -- the slow, smooth recoiling of their slender necks, the disciplined steps which lift each curved foot up from the water and then gently dip back down -- contrasts the frantic action of the other birds along the water. The herons walk and turn in a way that belongs in the sky, alongside the effortless glide of hawks on the wind, rather than this juxtaposition with fast flapping wings and argumentative crows.
Though graceful, the herons can be equally ferocious in a flash. Each heron stakes out hunting grounds, distancing itself from the rest to ensnare its prey in isolation. Waiting for just the right moment to snap from stillness to a lightning-fast strike into the water, beak piercing through its own reflection, the heron is pensive. A heron’s beak is like a pair of fine chopsticks in the deftest of hands: long, narrow, tapering to a sharp point, the beak hovers over the glassy surface of the water until - *fsssst* - he dives downward and plucks his morsel from the placid pool.
After each heron satisfies itself with meals of small fish, frogs, and whatever else is unlucky enough to wander into the gaze of their hungry eyes, a sight unfolds that hearkens back to prehistoric times. The herons stretch their great wingspans wide, some reaching over six feet across, and lift into the sky with powerful, graceful sweeps. They soar away from the wetland together, off to emblemize the patient, agile hunter in other waters.
Though graceful, the herons can be equally ferocious in a flash. Each heron stakes out hunting grounds, distancing itself from the rest to ensnare its prey in isolation. Waiting for just the right moment to snap from stillness to a lightning-fast strike into the water, beak piercing through its own reflection, the heron is pensive. A heron’s beak is like a pair of fine chopsticks in the deftest of hands: long, narrow, tapering to a sharp point, the beak hovers over the glassy surface of the water until - *fsssst* - he dives downward and plucks his morsel from the placid pool.
After each heron satisfies itself with meals of small fish, frogs, and whatever else is unlucky enough to wander into the gaze of their hungry eyes, a sight unfolds that hearkens back to prehistoric times. The herons stretch their great wingspans wide, some reaching over six feet across, and lift into the sky with powerful, graceful sweeps. They soar away from the wetland together, off to emblemize the patient, agile hunter in other waters.