Low Flying Heron

It was long. It was brown. It flew right in front of my windshield as I was driving down Buffalo Road, completely blocking my view from one side of the car to the other! So surreal - the unexpected in slow motion and so close and clear I could see every feather. I wonder that I didn't hit the bird, especially since it happened so fast I never had time to even think about tapping the brakes.

I can't imagine what the heron was doing there by the church - there are corn fields, but no body of water. I always see heron standing with their elbows bent backwards near some small pond or drainage ditch or other water source. And usually I see blue heron, not brown ones.

A friend of mine at Roberts shares my intrigue of blue heron. I think my fascination with them began in Illinois, where I saw one up close for the first time in a park near our apartment. It stood proud and forlorn near the water's edge, not ruffled by the barking dogs or loud voices of children on their bikes. It had rather a condescending attitude towards everyone and everything, and nonchalantly flew off when it was good and ready.

I found and conducted a choral piece about the blue heron with Amasong. There is something about a bird the size of a person that makes you want to ascribe to them human characteristics and feelings, even though we know better.

Such solitary and lonely birds. I rarely see two together. And I have never seen a baby heron. All of which adds to the mystique. Today, the image of that single huge bird stretched from one side of my windshield to the other is emblazoned in my head. I am just thankful it didn't end up a hood ornament!