In which I do not understand people
A great blue heron has been hanging around the bay for about a week, standing on one or another of the boat-dock-things in the water. Unimaginatively, I have been calling it Mr. Blue.
Today Mr. Blue was standing on coverless steel dock-ribs across from that house that has been for sale since we came back to Madison (and is never going to sell at the price they have it at, because two nearby bigger and better houses just sold for $60K less—I’m just sayin’). I stopped across the street from him, whereupon he looked at me suspiciously for a moment, then went back to preening.
A jogger came by, on Mr. Blue’s side of the street. Mr. Blue shook his head, but didn’t leave. The jogger didn’t see him.
Emboldened, I crossed the street and gingerly sat on the park bench. Mr. Blue considered leaving, but didn’t, and after a minute or three I was just part of his landscape and he didn’t mind me at all; he seemed more fussed at the breeze that was blowing his head-feathers into a topknot.
Three or four bicycles passed. Two walkers, one of whom said “Nice lake view, huh?” Several cars. And nobody saw Mr. Blue. I do not understand people, I truly don’t.
I half wonder if he’s just my Mr. Blue and nobody else can see him. More than once, when I’ve stopped to watch him and then gone on, I’ve looked back several steps later only to find he’s flown.