Misty days at the shore create a heavy mood around here. The air is soupy. Things slow down. Some people say it’s somber and even a little depressing because everything turns gray, Personally, I think it creates a special ambience — not quite romantic, but certainly mysterious. Like special things can happen.
Anything can happen. Or nothing at all.
I dunno. They’re just there. Maybe it’s the Holy Spirit messing with me a little. He knows I get a kick out of that.
Anyway…the birds. This heron has been a lone wolf around these parts as far as I can remember. One day he showed up and hasn’t left. Just the one. Well, once there were two, but usually it’s one. I can say this, he’s faithful to his little spot. There’s a branch that has made something like a sandbar in this little lake, and every morning he’s out there like a sentinel, just hanging out.
This morning was the first real cold morning of the season. The lake, on these mornings, reminds me of a scene out of “The Fall of the House of Usher,” when the narrator describes “the sullen waters of the tarn.” That’s my literary background creeping in on a gloomy morning.
Add the bird and you get a little character in there. There’s something about him that I like. Maybe it’s his constancy. Or his style. He’s pretty regal as he stands there, motionless. Or maybe it’s because he seems a little out of place. Maybe, he’s just hanging out there because he knows I appreciate him for no other reason than he’s there every morning.
There’s something to be said for presence.
