At first, I thought he was a mallard. From where I was sitting, with the afternoon sun reflecting off the water and enough distance between us, I could really only make out a small dark shape standing among the green covering the puddle. Then he lifted his head differently, and I realized I wasn’t looking at a duck at all.
I grabbed my phone and zoomed in as far as it would go, which sometimes helps and sometimes only creates a larger blurry mystery. Through the glare and the distance, I could finally make out the long pointed bill, the compact body, and colors that didn’t belong to any of the birds I had learned to recognize. It turns out we had a Green Heron visiting the puddle.
I have become accustomed to looking for Stella and Stanley, our Great Blue Herons, and I suppose somewhere along the way I began thinking I knew what a heron looked like. Apparently, the puddle thought there was still something for me to learn. This little visitor was a reminder that an entire family of birds cannot be understood simply because I have become familiar with two of its members.
Green Herons are much smaller than Great Blue Herons, and they are remarkably easy to overlook among vegetation, shadows, and shallow water. They are also fascinating little hunters, even known to occasionally place insects, feathers, or other small objects on the water as bait to attract fish. For such an unassuming little bird, there is quite a bit going on beneath those dark feathers.
I don’t know whether we will see this Green Heron again tomorrow. I don’t know if this is the beginning of another familiar face at the puddle or simply a stop along the way to somewhere else. I have learned enough from watching this place to know that permanence is not a requirement for belonging to a moment.
There are residents here, regular visitors, seasonal families, and creatures I may see only once. Some become familiar enough to earn names and stories, while others simply appear long enough for me to notice that the puddle was useful to them that day. There is room for all of them.
Maybe that is part of what it means to make a place welcoming. We don’t have to know how long someone intends to stay before deciding there is room for them while they are here. We don’t have to turn every visitor into a permanent member of our story for their presence to matter.
So, welcome to the puddle, little Green Heron.
You don’t have to stay.
But while you’re here, you belong here too.
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