Heron

This heron was loitering hanging out at the end of my dock one day recently.

Naturally, as soon as he saw me approach--especially with a camera--he became disgruntled.

It's a well-known fact that herons not only despise people, they also hate having their picture taken.

True introverted hermits they are, these herons.

It wasn't too long before he'd had enough.

Isn't it amazing how his coloring blends right in to that old, weathered wood (also known as the dock with missing boards)?

In other news relating to more of those I photograph even when they don't want their pictures taken, I visited Chesapeake Bay Son and Daughter at UVA this weekend.  In addition to eating at some great Charlottesville restaurants, we took a hike straight up the side of a mountain off the Blue Ridge Parkway.  No mothers, sons or daughters were injured in the mile of torture otherwise known as the Humpback Rock hike.  It's straight up in the air, practically a ninety-degree angle from the parking lot, at least that's what it felt like to me.  Regardless of how steep it was, the end reward for all that torture work was a spectacular view and a most memorable experience with my two favorite humans.

(I took pictures on my new iPhone, but I'm too lazy to post them here today.)

And now I'm back home staring out at a beautiful, sunny, fall Sunday afternoon.  Trying to figure out what I can get into next before Monday and the workweek arrive.

Have a fantastic week.

Heron

The public landing at the end of Route 611 in Onemo is probably my favorite.  

Last weekend I stopped in to say hello 

and noticed a very-clearly disgruntled heron fly off as I pulled up.

He didn't go very far, although I didn't know that 

until I used the zoom on my camera and discovered him 

eyeballing me from the end of the dock.

From a distance, he blended in quite well with his surroundings.

But zooming in, I caught him giving me the old stink eye.

The hairy eyeball.

(As only a heron can give.)

I had invaded his territory, and he was giving me 

the what for with his body language.

Here, he was basically telling me he was way taller than me.  

(I didn't argue.)

(I've learned over the years, it's futile arguing with herons.)

Then, when he realized I wasn't there to encroach any further,

nor was I disputing anything he was trying to tell me,

he finally

allowed himself

to relax.

I love herons.

And I thank this one for allowing me to invade his turf for a few minutes.

Happy February 29.