The egret looks improbable from a distance and precariously perched the closer one comes towards him. He bobs like a boat in a squall, weaving side to side like a drunk. Yet, he never falls from the tops of the hedge where he walks. It is maddening. There seems to be no reason for him to be there, so close to the surf with the dark clouds overhead threatening to unleash a storm that these parts are known for across the country.

Then his head darts down, quick as a snake into the lower branches of the bush. You shiver at the thought of snakes. His beak reappears from the foliage and a lizard, the color of emeralds, hangs limp like an odd mustache. The egret tips his long neck back and feasts.

You’re not sure if you feel badly for the lizard or happy for the egret. You decide it might be both or perhaps neither as the first drop of rain lands on your head.