Sunrise in a Favourite Place

The earth was warm and the early morning air above the stream by the beaver pond was cold. A dense fog lay over everything, and the sun came up through the tendrils of fog in a way that was downright magical, in spite of the temperature, the wind and the dampness.

On such a morning last year, there were at least a dozen migrating herons standing patiently here in the fog at sunrise, and they appeared one by one in regal profile as I squelched my way along the boggy verges, camera in hand. I was hoping for a heron or two this week, but (alas) there were no herons to be seen at sunrise.