One of these big, beautiful guys has made my pond his home. We see him every morning as I walk Wild and Unruly down to the road to catch the bus. He is amazing and beautiful and wild, everything I love about living in the country.
In his usual manner, he flew up from the banks of the pond (where I'm sure he was making quick work of the sunfish and minnows), slowly winging his way towards the woods and out of whatever danger he perceives we represent. I walk back down the driveway, alone, usually lost in my own morning thoughts, the thoughts that tend to be the most dis-ordered and unfettered in the early morning hours, but always I look for him, and other wild critters in the fields and woods. There is a family of quail living in a patch of long grass along the driveway, cute, little birds they are, in a goofy kind of way. I saw a blue-gray bird wending his way back to the muddy banks of our pond to toss down a few more frogs and fishes when another, bigger, more glorious bird - our bird - flew from a treetop and confronted the interloper. If I had a recording of what a pterydactyl might have sounded like aeons ago, I imagine the Blue Heron comes close to mimicing that ancient warning cry.
It was incredible and my heart swelled a bit at the absolute beauty of everything on this fabulous planet we call home.
The interloper flew away, well-warned by our territorial bird. I wonder if he (or she) will be back.
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