8:30am: It has been a few weeks and it's good to be back.
It's quite early: not nine o'clock yet. There is a little
bridge across a small creek, with a little waterfall nearby
that is a water intake for the creek. Something grey is
hunched in the mist there: a small, comical-looking heron.
He is about eighteen inches tall, He is being harassed by a
swallow, and as he turns his head and flinches, a long dark
crown feather trails and flicks over his back. He doesn't
seem to mind me watching him, but he finally gets sick of
the swallow and flies off. As I sketch him from memory, I
notice that something large is watching me- a very tall,
long-necked snow-white heron. When I look back at it, it
eases into the tall shore grass, becoming invisible . When
it takes flight, it is joined by another. Glorious birds,
flying with heads tucked in and thin black legs