The heron that did not leave

By December the other herons had gone south. One remained at the edge of the lake, standing in a single patch of open water that the wind kept clear. Each morning for six weeks I walked down to see if it was still there.

Naturalists will tell you that a lone heron in winter is not a mystery but a bet. A thin strip of water meant fish, and fish meant a meal without competition. The bird was gambling that cold would not last.

Watching without interfering

There is a discipline to watching wildlife in hard weather. You do not feed. You do not approach. You write down what you see and go home. On the thirty-ninth day, the bird was gone, and the lake was ice.

I never learned whether it left or lost the bet. I learned that staying is also a kind of travel, and that attention can be a form of respect.