And it stands, motionless, infinite patients: waiting. It has been doing this for eons, an act of adaptation that began when it was not even recongnizeable as a bird. Peering down into the water, millions of years of cell memory tell it what to do, and when. A small movement in the water and it is over in less time than it took for an observing eye to see it. A small fish has become part of the birds bio-mass : as it has been done over endless time. The green heron resumes it's waiting. All around it there are strange creatures moving by it, and very close as well. How odd they are: noisy, obvious, completely out of place with everything else. But they don't seem to see the heron; perhaps they don't have very accute vision. Every now and then they will stop and stare out over the lake and one of their appendages will thrust out, pointing: pointing at what. What does it mean. But still, even as close as they come to the heron they never seem to know it is there until... One of these strange creature suddenly stops. It's pace gets slower, cautious, deliberate. It does not thrust out one of it's appendages: quite the opposite it tries to make itself appear smaller. It holds a large object, and when it points this object it looks like an enormous eye. It too becomes very still, and yet others like it continue to trundle by, almost as though they don't see it. From the large eye there comes a blinding flash: the heron twitches, reflexively, but does not bolt. Another brilliant flash: no harm done. This goes on for a few moments and then it's over. The strange creature with the giant eye slowly rises and very deliberatley, but with no haste, moves on. Now what the hell was that all about. The heron goes on with it's program of millions of years: goes motionless and waits...
