A Great Egret stands atop what appears to be a scattered lump of twigs. Of course, it's nothing of the kind. It's a platform nest, and although it may look flimsy and non-enduring, the weight of the twigs added over time locks everything together and makes the nest secure:
"The simplicity of the architectural blueprint for the piled-up platform nest is deceptive, as it creates some of the most monumental and enduring structures in the avian world. Birds of prey including eagles, kites, and ospreys build platforms, as do herons, egrets, storks, and spoonbills." (Source: "Avian Architecture; How Birds Design, Engineer, and Build," by Peter Goodfellow, pg 36.)
A Great Egret on its nest at the Ibis Pond rookery on Pinckney Island (from June of this year).
...giving the nest the once over? Our egret appears to be studying something!
I saw more Great Egret nests on Pinckney Island this summer than past years. The Great Egret nests were much further away from the the moat and harder to see than the Tricolored Herons, Little Blue Herons, and Snowy Egrets, but this one, although pretty far away, was easily seen.
...a Great Egret takes flight through the reeds at the water's edge.
Egrets
by Mary Oliver
Where the path closed
down and over,
through the scumbled leaves,
fallen branches,
through the knotted catbrier,
I kept going. Finally
I could not
save my arms
from thorns; soon
the mosquitoes
smelled me, hot
and wounded, and came
wheeling and whining.
And that's how I came
to the edge of the pond:
black and empty
except for a spindle
of bleached reeds
at the far shore
which, as I looked,
wrinkled suddenly
into three egrets - - -
a shower
of white fire!
Even half-asleep they had
such faith in the world
that had made them - - -
tilting through the water,
unruffled, sure,
by the laws
of their faith not logic,
they opened their wings
softly and stepped
over every dark thing.
down and over,
through the scumbled leaves,
fallen branches,
through the knotted catbrier,
I kept going. Finally
I could not
save my arms
from thorns; soon
the mosquitoes
smelled me, hot
and wounded, and came
wheeling and whining.
And that's how I came
to the edge of the pond:
black and empty
except for a spindle
of bleached reeds
at the far shore
which, as I looked,
wrinkled suddenly
into three egrets - - -
a shower
of white fire!
Even half-asleep they had
such faith in the world
that had made them - - -
tilting through the water,
unruffled, sure,
by the laws
of their faith not logic,
they opened their wings
softly and stepped
over every dark thing.
I've always loved this poem by Mary Oliver. It's in one of my favorite bird anthology books, "The Little Big Book of Birds," edited by Lena Tabori and Natasha Tabori Fried, pg. 258. I tried twice to format this poem as it appears in my book, but both times, Blogger stripped out the formatting when I posted. I tried...
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