Great Blues

This Great Blue Heron (Ardea herodias) was standing at the edge of a farm pond on the Rosetta road in the Lanark Highlands yesterday morning. He or she was still perched there when we drove home later in the day, fierce, golden eyed, statuesque and beautiful beyond words.

The great herons are perhaps my favorite birds ever, and I stood at a distance for some time with a monster lens mounted on the camera, collar up in the cold wind and shooting image after image of one of the Old Wild Mother's finest creations. I would not mind being a heron in my next life.

It is becoming cold here, and there is little for these magnificent birds to eat at this time of year, no frogs, minnows, water snakes and aquatic insects. "Fly", I told him (or her). "Leave this place and make your way south now. I shall stand as guardian in your place and watch over the valley until you return in springtime. Go now and journey safely, my friend."

Much as I love this place, this time, this season, it is always a wrench to say goodbye to the neighbors and wild kin who spend their winters away, and I am a little melancholy. A part of me is already awaiting their return.