A young bird is a proof of new life asserting itself. This is no small lesson at a time of a global pandemic.

Almost every day for the past few months, a juvenile Great Blue Heron has been frequenting and standing on the shallow edges of the pond, pool, and wetland area of the SUNY New Paltz campus. This young heron is beautiful, majestic, and self-possessed. Life has felt so different now, in this time of the Covid-19 pandemic – slower, quieter, at times disorienting. A heron’s patient rituals have been quite a comfort.

Always, and ever more so since the pandemic flared in the spring of 2020, walking has been centering and peaceful. For this past 18 months, walks have provided solace, beauty, and the affirmation of nature and the seasons, a source of strength in addition to dear ones, prayer, and a sense of purpose. Once the world closed in on lockdown, SUNY New Paltz’s lovely campus and some of the preserves and trails near home became the universe, a feeling many others have expressed about the environs near where they live. More than ever, observing the trees, flowers, plants, skies, ridgelines, birds, and wildlife nearby, with their changes through the seasons, symbolizes the rituals of life, of enduring a pandemic that has caused so much suffering.

Into this world came the young Great Blue Heron and, at times, a couple of fellow herons. A heron’s stillness is mesmerizing. Not to say that she doesn’t move, but everything is well-considered. Often, the heron stares at a spot in the water, and then suddenly stabs with her sharp bill to nab a fish and swallow it whole. Beyond these times of darting for prey, the Great Blue Heron’s absolute lack of movement amazes, as the bird stands and peers for many, many minutes without moving its head, body, and long, thin legs. The eyes maintain a singular focus. Then, without warning, the bird lifts in flight with graceful flaps of her wide wings.

The stately Great Blue Heron

A sunny spot on a pedestrian bridge

Spotting a fish perhaps?

Her manner of walking is, in and of itself, a matter of delight, a graceful choreography. In the shallows, she lifts one leg and moves it up into the air slightly and then forward. At times, the bird holds one leg midair below her body at a 90-degree angle, perched. Then her leg straightens and her foot lands gently onto the pond’s surface. She then repeats this move as she makes her way along the shallow edge of the water or along the grassy border. Soft and sure.

Following their breeding season, when they congregate in large colonies, Great Blue Herons spend much of their time alone. Each day on my walks, this solitary heron has been in one or the other of its places along a connected waterway, on the campus’ large, round pond (known on campus maps as “The Gunk”), north of there at the edge of an aerated pool, or farther south along a basin adjoining waterway. All about the bird, after the students returned to campus, the heron kept up its routines. Students walk by, chatting and giggling with each other. Skateboarders glide by on the sidewalks. Most go by, they in their worlds, this young heron in her own. Some stop by to watch, take a photo, or even to sit on a bench and watch the heron. Occasionally, one gets too close for comfort, and she slowly takes wing, up and across the pond or farther northward in another area.

I’ve named the heron Sunny Grace, the first name a play on the word SUNY and for the glorious, light presence of this Great Blue Heron, and the second name for her graceful movement as well as her gift to the day. Two students seated on a bench one day, watching, said they named the heron Henry.

A catch of fish

Time for sunning

At times, after I’ve headed to the campus feeling fatigued, heavy, or worried, observing this bird friend has brought joy, lightness, and wonder. I smile or chuckle seeing her movements or careful grooming. My mind and energy become blissfully clear. Each day I encounter the heron, I quietly say to her, “Godspeed. Thank you, Sunny Grace. That you for your beauty. Godspeed. Good evening!”

Embracing stillness and leaving the camera aside, I have found the sightings are richer. One Sunday evening, from a bench around the pond, the heron’s show was stunning, like a play finale. She stood in the shallows and – snap-zap! – grabbed a fish, flew across the pond with the fish in her mouth, ate it while standing on the other side, and then walked a bit around. Flying to a spot not far from my bench, she stood, rapt and erect, staring across the shimmery water. Then, bobbing her head slowly forward and back, the heron proceeded to walk in front of my bench, just a couple of feet away. Wowie! Who needs a Broadway ticket!

At some point as temperatures get colder, the Great Blue Herons, including my often-encountered friend, likely will be off for points south. They migrate alone or in flocks, during days or nights. The heron’s presence has brought priceless gifts. In the heron’s times of stillness is power and a fullness of the moment. I take it in as wisdom for always, but especially when we have needed to embrace the simplest gifts around us these past months. Be still. Embrace the stillness of moments, particularly when it is asked of us. Gather from them. Look. Listen. Observe. Be in these moments.

Great Blue Herons: Explore More

All About Birds: Great Blue Herons

Audubon: Great Blue Heron

The Chesapeake Bay Foundation: Podcast – The Stalkers: Great Blue Herons and Their Kin