The Little Story
Her mate was away hunting supper for hungry nestlings. This lady-killer—perhaps a bit inexperienced being a romantic leading man—perched in a nearby spruce.  I watched through my lens as the drama played out. Waving his head back and forth in a birdy imitation of Steve Wonder, he gave barks that in green heron language must mean, “Come hither, my love.” Plumage upraised and his eyes wildly dilated,  he finally summoned the courage to approach the object of his attention. Enter our hero, the older, wiser, and more formidable male green heron who—with much commotion—sent this interloper packing. Nice try, Romeo.