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Great Blues ‍
At the base of the Great Blue Wall, where the Thompson River makes one final slip over a blocky ledge before disappearing under the surface of Lake Jocassee, a Great Blue Heron fishes. He doesn’t leave at our slow approach, but stands, princely, his frayed plume of chest feathers ruffling slightly in the breeze of rushing water. The bird watches with a cautious yellow eye as we maneuver the boat into a landing, then turns his attention back to the water. We wait breathlessly for a strike that doesn’t come; fishing is not so good at this hour, perhaps, but the big bird is patient. He shifts weight from one long, thin leg to the other and takes a barely perceptible step. Another step, and his blue-gray feathers blend into the color of the blue-gray rock behind him, his feathery chest plumes blend into the color of lichen on the rock. This wild and elegant creature has deemed us a non-threat to the business of his day. He goes about his business; we go about ours. ~K