Yellow-crowned Night Heron: Telepathy and Grudge
The heron stood on a rock like it had paid for the view and regretted it. He was crouched, wings folded, head turned just enough to give me his profile, not the full profile, just enough to suggest I wasn’t worth the full effort.
He stared at me. I stared back.
Neither of us blinked.
Then, without opening his beak, I heard it:
“Eric, how do you like this pose?”
Telepathy. It happens sometimes, especially with birds who have strong opinions and no intention of speaking English.
I said, “Love it.”
He flew off in a huff.
Either I answered too fast, or too slow, or I was supposed to compliment him nonverbally.
Hard to say.
Telepathy doesn't come with footnotes.
Moral:
You only get one telepathic chance with a heron. Use it poorly, and poof.
Couplet:
He posed like a yogi with something to say,
Then flew off in huffish, telepathic dismay.
Yellow-crowned Night Heron: Telepathy and Grudge
The heron stood on a rock like it had paid for the view and regretted it. He was crouched, wings folded, head turned just enough to give me his profile, not the full profile, just enough to suggest I wasn’t worth the full effort.
He stared at me. I stared back.
Neither of us blinked.
Then, without opening his beak, I heard it:
“Eric, how do you like this pose?”
Telepathy. It happens sometimes, especially with birds who have strong opinions and no intention of speaking English.
I said, “Love it.”
He flew off in a huff.
Either I answered too fast, or too slow, or I was supposed to compliment him nonverbally.
Hard to say.
Telepathy doesn't come with footnotes.
Moral:
You only get one telepathic chance with a heron. Use it poorly, and poof.
Couplet:
He posed like a yogi with something to say,
Then flew off in huffish, telepathic dismay.