“The greatest art is to sit, and wait, and let it come.”
She was still, statuesque, as she waited on the pier’s edge. Red snapper was on the menu a few feet beyond her, scraps from the daily allotment that three fishermen were cleaning at the dock’s fish stand. Her proximity to humans was unusual; but then, so were the pickings being tossed her way. Worth the risk, and worth the wait, she must have thought.
She was used to remaining immobile for long stretches, though usually her long legs were wet up to her belly from stalking the marshlands. When ready to eat, a sudden lightning thrust of her dagger-like beak would seal the dinner deal in the wild. Here, the heron thrust her head swiftly towards a redfish tail tossed her way, not to kill, but to swallow improbably down her long slim neck.
When the fisherman headed for their trucks, she too took flight, slowly, lazily, her impressive wingspan nearing six feet wide while she climbed toward the Florida panhandle wetlands to the west. ♣