Intricacies: Part Six

Ardea herodias

I had approached quietly, the toes of my boots dipping into the mud along the river’s edge. I was sure the heron had sensed my presence long before I came into view, though he acted unaware. He stood still on one leg with his neck outstretched, peering down into the water as I navigated the bank. The stillness was interrupted by my own doing: my left foot catching on the uproot of a fallen oak tree splayed out across the river, the leaves still green. I froze and met the heron’s gaze, which had suddenly left the rippling current and landed on me, leaning against a large rock, with my foot still wedged in the root bed. His glowing, yellow eyes stared intently. Standing on two feet, the heron squatted, as if considering taking flight; its wings rose slightly. But, after a moment, the heron’s stature relaxed, his head turning and revealing a sharp, pointed beak and upon his chest: long, flowing feathers. 

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