Blue Heron flew black against a changing sky, large lumbering wings making shadows across the moon. Two of them, circling, moving higher and higher on currents of evening air. They spiraled together searching for the perfect bedtime perch.
I know these birds from my walk along the library paths. They stand close to the water’s edge, lifting off on short low flights to small islands or neighboring fields.
Flying looks difficult for them, as if lifting their great bodies away from earth takes extra-ordinary effort. I imagined they slept tucked away, camouflaged near a bush or blending into sprouts of spring cane, necks folded down, great wings tucked by their sides.
I was late walking the paths today, much later then usual. Looking skyward at the beckoning moon surprised me with more than expected. There they were, wings spread wide, graceful and searching, climbing in constant motion toward ponderosa pines. I stopped and smiled, overcome with gratitude in sharing the moment.