The Boy and the Heron

I’ve always been a little creeped out by herons. They remind me of a old, stooped man wearing a badly-fitting bird suit. Their legs gangly, expression perpetually one of confused or cross, don’t quite have the majesty of other large birds.

That’s not to say they aren’t fascinating. Building nests high up in the trees is impressive, as are their take offs and landings between them. We lazily ambled through Conham River Park to spot them. Our day out in east Bristol was leisurely, but many engaging scenes presented themselves. We walked past Beese’s bar, bustling with bank holiday punters. The herons were plentiful, stalking fish in the river and up in the towering trees. Squirrels scurried across the mossy branches. Cormorants cleaned themselves on stumps. And song thrushes played in pairs.

The spring colours really popped against the overcast sky. I hope they convey the warmth we felt on our little venture into nature.