The Blue Heron

Barb and I set out on our Tandem Two’sDay bicycle before sunrise one June morning of 1989. Our goal was to enjoy ham and eggs and a biscuit at a cafe 14 miles from home.

Not yet in the groove, as it were, we were both deep in thought rather than conversation. We’d traveled about four miles when we came upon a blue heron feeding in a roadside stream. He failed to notice us until we were about ten years away.

Unfortunately, the vegetation made his escape difficult. But he soon made enough room for his wing span and beat a hasty retreat across a grassy meadow, croaking like a frog.

And we had something to discuss.