Well it is getting late in the season so perhaps this guy was prospecting the garden for a little something to bulk him up for the flight south to warmer climes. He hangs out along the stream every summer but is unobtrusive to a fault; we rarely see him. The heron seems a contradiction, combining, as he does, an ungainly, even clumsy, appearance with a smooth grace as one leisurely flap of the wings gets him airborne and soaring.The Heron
The heron stands in water where the swamp
Has deepened to the blackness of a pool,
Or balances with one leg on a hump
Of marsh grass heaped above a musk-rat hole.
He walks the shallow with an antic grace.
The great feet break the ridges of the sand,
The long eye notes the minnow’s hiding place.
His beak is quicker than a human hand.
He jerks a frog across his bony lip,
Then points his heavy bill above the wood.
The wide wings flap but once to lift him up.
A single ripple starts from where he stood.
—Theodore Roethke (1908-1963)