Or, more accurately, I’m the one who’s back to King Beauregard’s favorite haunts, where he’s been doing his Great Blue Heron thing for all these months, rain or shine, COVID or not.
This time, Beau made me suffer for several days, as I hung out on the deck of a friendly seaside restaurant, watching him stand in silence —aware of my presence, but indifferent, as if to say…
“Oh, it’s you. Where have you been for the past year? Why should I perform for a sometime-friend who shows up at his own convenience?”
And what could this sunny-day-friend do by way of an answer?
Nothing, except to show up, day after day, staring at Beau through my viewfinder, with my enormous lens mounted on tripod and gimbal, photographing the occasional egret as I waited for Beau to fly.
On the fourth day, I was ready to quit. My card was full of shots of Beau silently standing. We were leaving Beau’s patch of paradise on the following morning. It was time to lug my gear away and pack.
”Beau,” I whispered, “I’ve done all the penance I can muster. If you love me as I do you, could you show me a sign?”
And I swear, then and there, he squawked. Next he squatted, sprang up and flew! Giving me ample time to shoot every beautiful detail of his dark, multi-colored wings and neck.
Thanks, my steadfast friend.
