… (at the expense of my fine-feathered friends, a couple of Great Blue Herons).
Yesterday, en route to Council Point Park, it sure was blustery. I saw Christmas decorations swaying with each gusty puff of air, and homeowner’s wind chimes were rattling away, swinging slightly and emitting a range of pleasant musical notes.
The Park is even windier than in the ‘hood due to the wide open spaces and I snuggled down further into my coat. Sometimes the individual hairs on the squirrels’ furry tails were sticking straight up, as if they’d seen a ghost. Ooh, that’s how wicked the wind was.
I was handing out peanuts to the left and right side all along the trail, when fellow walker Mike hurried over to see me and said “do you have your camera with you? You’ve got to go back this way because the big bird is just sitting there on the side of the Creek, but not in his usual spot. I’m on my second time around and he hasn’t budged an inch – go before he moves and you can get a picture!”
So, that was my cue to get going and I momentarily abandoned the squirrels (well kind of – they followed along behind me) and high-tailed it over to the direction Mike had pointed, while pulling the camera out of the zippered hidey-hole in my squall jacket.
Well I saw that heron, looking relaxed and just gazing ahead, so I turned around and scattered a few peanuts behind me to keep my furry pals occupied so I could take that heron’s picture. I sneaked, snuck … well, let’s just say I crept up behind this feathered fellow. He didn’t see me and the gusty wind was lifting the feathers at the top of his head ever so slightly. He definitely needed a little hair gel to tame those wayward feathers which gave him a punk rock look.
That Great Blue Heron gave me the side eye, first from the left …
… then from the right.
Mike was right – he never budged an inch!
I took a slew of pictures and moseyed back onto the trail again, and … if I didn’t spot another heron.
Mike didn’t say anything about TWO herons, so I wonder which one he sent me too? Right away I pegged him to be the resident heron here at Council Point Park. He was ankle deep in the cold water.
That heron looked around, the wind raising a tuft of feathers on his crest, giving him a rather comical look, just like his predecessor. I inched slowly down the leaf-covered slope to hone in on him for a close-up picture, but he was wise to me, plus the crispy leaves underfoot crackled and made my presence known.
That heron shot a look at me, then let out a screech that could raise the dead, and he promptly flew across the Creek, clearly miffed at my presence.
I left the Creek bank, not quite with the same flourish and pizzazz as he did, but I climbed back up to the trail where four squirrels sat on haunches with sad eyes and rumbling stomachs and one squirrel chattered and looked disapprovingly at me from a nearby tree, as if I should not be taking care of any business, but squirrel business first!
I guess I should be glad he didn’t give me the cold shoulder like the herons.