The Marsh of the Little Blue Heron Read online

The Marsh of the Little Blue Heron

  By Anne Spackman

  Copyright 2015 by Anne Spackman

  All rights reserved.

  The sun rose one morning in a gray sky over one of the marshy wetlands of Florida. Rain fell softly over the marsh, rippling the surface of the water, as one resident, a little blue heron bird, was wading slowly and deliberately through the marsh in search of food. Being long-legged, the blue heron easily traversed the low waters of the marsh. It would stop every now and again to dive its head down to the water to try to snatch up a frog or a small fish.

  Another bird soared overhead and let out a call—a small songbird, not at all like the stately heron with its long legs, neck, and beak that was ideal for catching fish, frogs, and other small animals. It was early spring, and the heron had several babies to feed as well, all contained in a nearby stick nest in a small tree. The fledglings had only just been hatched a couple of weeks ago.

  “Wow! I’ll never be,” exclaimed a male voice not too far away. That morning, young John McLean was also out exploring near the marsh close to his family’s house with his hiking gear and knee-high boots on. Young John had grown up exploring the marshes with his father. There was no sign of any dangerous alligators that morning, thankfully, but John was cautious just the same. It was Saturday morning, and young John, who was nearly seventeen years old, had hopes of taking a few pictures of the animals in the marsh on his camera.

  “Just a minute, pretty bird,” said John to the heron. “Now don’t go anywhere until I can take your picture.” John had a really good camera, and photography was his hobby. He especially liked taking photos of birds, but this wasn’t always easy as they tended to fly off when disrupted.

  John zoomed in on the little blue heron and right away snapped off several shots of it, and then he followed her with his camera’s lens as she made her way deliberately and quietly across the marsh. The little blue heron’s steps were rather graceful. John was mesmerized by her and the extraordinary shade of blue of her feathers. Moreover, he really liked being out in the early morning in the marsh, and was hoping to take a few pictures that he could sell to a wildlife magazine.

  John stopped to look at his pictures of the heron when she suddenly flew off with her food to return to her babies. John smiled, angling his head back to watch her in flight. She had a great wingspan, and he was impressed by her flight.

  “Gorgeous bird,” he remarked. Well, time to head back I suppose, he thought to himself. It was already two hours past sunrise.

  John made his way through the marsh that bordered the subdivision and headed back to civilization. He had walked for about twenty minutes when he at last reached his house. By the time he had reached his family’s house, he was getting mighty hungry. His stomach growled a couple of times on the way.

  John’s family’s house was a brick two-story at the edge of a Florida suburb. He stood at the door and removed the mud-caked knee-high boots he was wearing, and then he got out his key, turned the lock, and entered the house. He then tiptoed up the stairs in his slippery socks. His room was on the right of the staircase, decorated with a huge poster of a wolf on the door. John didn’t want to wake anyone in case they were still asleep, so he was as quiet as he could be.

  “Easy does it there, Max,” said John to their dog, a German shepherd, who was clamoring at John for some attention. John stopped to scratch behind Max’s ears and pet him on the head. “All right, Max, all right,” he said, and smiled at the dog, who barked, possibly waking up the house. John cringed and tried to shush Max. “Be quiet, boy, or everyone’s going to be mad at me with all of your barking.”

  John took off his backpack and took out his camera to download the pictures onto his computer, as Max settled down onto the oval rug on the floor. John was really pleased with the pictures, as he had managed to get a good close-up of the little blue heron’s face. John was also an artist as well as a photographer, and he often sketched and painted the birds and animals he had taken photos of. There were small, framed sketches of bald eagles, egrets, flamingoes, finches, frogs, hawks, and other animals on his walls.

  “Time for breakfast, John,” called John’s mother from below as John was arranging his photos on his computer.

  “Coming, mom,” called John through the open doorway to his room. And he stood up and headed downstairs, whistling a tune from the radio.

  In the kitchen, Mrs. McLean was setting down a plate of pancakes on the table.

  “Morning,” said John as he sat down to eat across from his younger twelve-year-old sister, Mia. She and her brother had a good relationship despite the four and a half year age gap between them.

  Right now, Mia was already reaching for some of the pancakes. “Guess you were already awake when I came home,” said John.

  “Where’ve you been?” said John’s mother, who had an inkling already.

  “Out in the wetlands. I got some good pictures this morning of a little blue heron, Mom. She wasn’t afraid of me, or was too busy looking for food to notice me until I was right up beside her.”

  “Mia, don’t slurp your juice.” Said John’s mother. “I’m glad, John,” she added, “But I do worry when you go out there. You have to be careful.”

  “I know, Mom. I am careful. I didn’t see anything dangerous.”

  “I don’t like it out there,” said Mia. “Awful alligators. They give me the willies.” She shivered. “And snakes.”

  “I don’t like them, either,” agreed John. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s working on the car this morning. But he had to go to the hardware store first,” replied Mrs. McLean.

  Mr. McLean was fixing up an old Ford Mustang to be John’s first car. John was really excited about it, as he had just recently got his driver’s license.

  “Great pancakes, mom,” said John before downing a glass of orange juice. “I was really hungry.”

  “I do think it’s good to get out, John,” said his mother, her eyebrows knitting in concern. “But I worry. Tell me when you’ll be back next time, or leave a note, ok, hon?”

  “Sure, Mom. I’m sorry.”