The heron walked stealthily as if tiptoeing on those spindly legs.

Each step led further away from me as the bird inched toward a tuft of reeds near the shore of Lily Lake that hid it partially.

Then it hid completely.

Now it was my turn.

Each paddle blade slipped through the water as silently as the bird’s steps.

Without sound my kayak skimmed over the lilies that give name to the lake.

Even the jays, on alert whenever even I paddled slapdash, stopped squawking.

I started to hear as well as see the lake.

Sounds gurgled up from the muck.

The kayak, gliding now with paddle power, passed the reeds.

Into view returned the heron, neck outstretched, beak pointing ahead like a weathervane.

I tried to stay as still, moving only my index finger on the camera shutter.

Even so, that was too much.

A few clicks and the bird took flight.

Click.

Click.

Click.

And it was gone.