The clouds parted, and the sun shone with such force I had to squint. It was if the sun had been holding on to its heat and light and released it all at once. The darkness of the day beat a hasty retreat. The leaves glowed, the landscape glistened, the water sparkled, and there I was, sitting on the dock, taking it all in. All of this beauty was so perfect it was almost beyond belief.
Suddenly, to my far right, I saw a distinctive grey flutter. With a wave of a wing, a heron had given its position away amid the tall reeds and barely moving water. This was a mere moment in time, and watching it unfold was like watching a breeze blow through a meadow. He took to the sky within the space of a heartbeat; a graceful, effortless lift. He spread his wings wide, and with long, leisurely beats, started to make his way towards me following the line of the creek. I held my breath. This was an aerial dance unlike any other, and before I knew it, he was passing right in front of my eyes. And that’s when it happened: the biggest discharge of bird poop I’d ever seen (and the windshield of our car has seen plenty). It reminded me of those old war movies in which planes machine gunned soldiers below as they ran for their lives: RA-TA-TA-TA. But these weren’t military manoeuvres I was seeing, this was nature, and the only sound to be heard was the splashdown of the aforementioned bird poop and a ring of laughter. (Mine, not the bird’s.)
I’m still wondering what this all meant. I’m a rational person but part of me believes in omens. Was this a lucky sighting? Or a foreshadowing of things to come?
Coming soon, a bit more about the cabin on the creek.
