We interrupt our regularly scheduled search for the perfect walk-around lens to bring you a brief tale of coastal real estate as observed on my recent visit to Bolsa Chica Wetlands Preserve.
Where will a heron find a home? In Laguna, Brea, or El Cajon? “I’ll need a roommate,” our hero sighs, “cuz an ocean view ain’t no small fries.”
“He can live with me, if his name is Alan,” said one to the youtube cognoscenti, while raptors eyeballed wag-on-a-stick, giving thanks for this, the land of plenty.
“He should live on his own or stay with his mother. He cannot live with me: One good tern deserves another.”
Where will a heron find a home? In Galveston, Taos, or San Antone? “Although this actor waits tables, I’m not at all jerky. Everyone loves my impression of a turkey!”
“You can hardly call it acting,” said a stately white cousin, “but his gamey gopher breath is what sets my left eye a’buzzin’.”
“it’s true I emote and forget all my lines, and I get very nervous onstage, but just like DeNiro, Pacino, and Pitt, I excel at smoldering rage!”
“No, he doesn’t. Now get the hell out of here before he asks me. No, seriously. Go away.”
Oh how can a heron find a home, and what’s more with a roommate at the beach? Oh how when he eats all those rodents whole, and then makes a trumpet of his breach?*
*Apologies to Dante Alighieri
A kindly cormorant considered the scene, but didn’t stop to chat. Asked why as he flew away so fast, said only “Cormy don’t play that.”
“Oh how about you, my flustery friend? Would you share a room with a heron? “Indeed I would not,” cawed the thrice-worried crow, “I’d sooner wear lipstick and lead a bear on.”
“Dude, you did not tell him I’m up here, right?” said the kestrel. “Shut up,” said the crow. “You shut up,” said the kestrel. Later, the kestrel decapitated the crow and ate his liver with some faba beans and a nice chianti. But back to our story.
“I can’t be his roommate; we’re too odd a couple, I’m tiny and brittle, he’s enormous and supple. and I’m plenty angry; don’t fill me with woe. He poops bigger than me; don’t ask how I know.”
Where will a heron find a home? Near an ocean or lagoon or riparian zone? Without a roommate, the choices are few…
…but then he found a palm tree by the Bolsa Chica slough, built a bachelor’s nest and bid us adieu. Except he pronounced it wrong, and it didn’t rhyme with slough.
But that was his home. And he ate rats that tried to live there and he farted freely and orated from the highest fronds and lived boorishly and beautifully ever after.