Description
Alone in the sunlit leaves, a heron reaches its neck skyward and fans one great slate-blue wing down through the branches in a slow evening stretch. The low sun turns the cottonwood foliage to green and gold around it, close enough that you can count the flight feathers. There is no audience here, which may be the only reason the bird allows itself the indulgence. An intimate single-subject study, all texture and late light.





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