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Showing posts from June, 2008

Looking Out The Window: The Stalker

The blue heron stood perfectly still in the warm morning sun on the white sandy beach in Destin, Florida. Six feet from a fishing pole and a bucket of live bait, the two-foot tall skinny bird moved not a muscle, his head held high. The fisherman in a beige fishing cap waded barefoot into the white foamy waves. He cast his line, and the blue heron slowly lifted his pencil thin legs, moving forward ever so precisely, ever so carefully. As soon as the fisherman gazed backward the bird straightened his slender body. When he faced forward again, the heron tentatively stepped with his long wiry feet positioning himself even closer to his goal. The moment the man glanced at the pretty light blue creature this finely feathered piece of the shore’s landscape assumed his statuesque pose. Over and over he and the man in the beige cap repeated the action. “He thinks he’s a stealth bird that we can’t see as long as he isn’t doing anything,” I told my husband. Listening to the roar of the tide besi