The End of the Day

     This afternoon my Blue Heron returned. He caught my eye as I was doing something on the sun porch. He stood in the shallows of low tide, just beyond the pier. I've learned that he fishes here during low tide. He was so close, I wondered if he knew that I wanted to see him.
     He is a study in patience. I watched him for a half hour or more, as he slowly waded across a wide expanse of tideland.
    He moves with his own rhythm and grace. His careful eye studies the water as he follows his prey. He cocks his head, turns toward his goal and splash! His beak goes in, and he unfurls his neck to lift his fish high.

    His neck is so long, like a giraffe's. How does he see the fish from such a height and shoot that long neck into the water with speed and accuracy? Splash! One shot is all it takes. It's a miracle of timing. 
   While I watched Big Blue, the day changed into evening and sunset claimed my attention. The sun actually goes down over the water across the road, to my back from the pier where I stand. The reflection I see is more subtle than those fiery reds beyond the fishing boats in the west.
   A high, wind-swept bank of clouds had gathered above the tidelands. The sunset behind us painted them rose pink, purple, and blue. They were magnificent! It's a cliche' word, but they certainly were. These clouds were straight from "The 10-Commandments":  Charlton Heston could have easily emerged.
   The water was perfectly still. It shone with a mirror image of the sky - pink marble as slick as glass.
To the right, a grove of trees stood on a cleared point, their dark green tops bending toward the water like ladies with wind-blown hair. An early moon, nearly full, hung just above the trees. Translucent silver, it completed the scene like a sigh following a deep breath.