Herons showing affinity for gray rocks today. Ray dismounts his bicycle to walk half a mile with me. The bike is between us. The heron at the red bridge stands near a rock. I find it noticeable, Ray can barely pick it out.
“Camouflage,” says Ray.
On my way back a heron alights on a vee of rocks in the creek and makes a racket before it hops with alacrity into the water to begin fishing.
I have stuff to do, I just don’t know what it is. A reddish and brown hawk feather lay on the ground near the gambrel-roof barn, a nice pairing with the red-tinted limestone of the Heritage Center farmhouse. Now I remember.