Sunday, May 29, 2016

BLUE HERON NESTING SANCTUARY (THAT IS WHAT THE BEST OF THINGS ARE MADE FROM)



It was as if in a dream or a movie. Pure magic. Turning the corner in the late afternoon to a street that sits adjacent a farming community. After that street there are only fields of green and brown for as long as the eye can see. My own camera is not powerful enough to capture the nests, a little far off, that sit right near the tops of trees. I can see some silhouettes only. But each nest has a bird watching the, I suppose, eggs. The thing is, there is nothing else around there- no forest, no city, no real town to speak of either. There was a quiet that, against logic, vibrated in the air. The sound of nothing perhaps. The sky was a strange blue-white, as if the clouds had mixed themselves in with the actual sky and melted but not disappeared. One man on the end, a little guy with an actual camouflaged lens, maybe two or three feet long. It must have cost a thousand dollars or much more. The green boggy-marsh-swamp surrounds the bottom and nothing moves. It’s the birds, large, tending, watching, waiting, being. Sometimes, just sometimes, one flies off and goes across the street and disappears into the sky. It was something. It was all something. But the first moment turning the corner and looking up to the high left, - the shapes of the nests, black against the sky, - and a large bird in each. That is what the best of things are made from. 


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