A heron slips along the shoreline as if on rice paper. A
great angler, he will place a reflective object on the water's
surface—a pin oak leaf, for example—and watch for a fish
to investigate. The heron's patience, driven by necessity,
far outstrips mine. Fifteen minutes in and I lower the
binoculars to look for other birds. Meanwhile, the green
heron waits, motionless, seemingly dispassionate, until a
fish is in range and he strikes. Is it hyperbole to compare
the jolt to lightning? His long neck shooting out and
snapping back, he breaks the water's surface like a diver
with barely a ripple and comes back with the catch. He is
fed because he waited, quiet and watchful.
(from Green Heron)