I know I have babbled on before about my gorgeous daily commute to and from work. I ramble through bucolic old New England towns…farms and homes and pastures all the way. One of my little superstitions is that if I see the cows or the horses or other animals in any of the fields I pass, it will be a good day. Well, the herons are back and it is definitely a good day. A swampy, dying-tree-filled stretch separates two towns. Three huge heron nests nestle into three very tall dead trees, up at the very tip top. Much of the year, those nests just sit there. But every late spring, the herons come back. I think they are blue herons; they are large birds. At any rate, the first sign is the arrival of adults birds. They hang around in the nests, occasionally thrilling passersby by sitting on a branch looking majestic. Much later, the eggs in those nests hatch and the babies grow. Soon, we commuters are rewarded with just a hint of the tops of little bird heads. Of course, it is a dance between driving safely (and making sure that the big truck behind you sees your brake lights) and slowing down enough to be able to watch the show. Welcome, little baby birds…I look forward to watching the herons every year.
Happily married for a million years, Grammy, Mom and Mum-in-Law, kitties Sophie and Phoebe and best dog in the world Boo! Community theater actor and director. Happy library volunteer and amateur (translated to lover of) photographing nature. Avid reader (via Kindle on my iPhone) of fiction. In love with Midcoast Maine.
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