The only birds I can immediately see at the lake today are wayan the white faced heron, grey and thinly gentleman-like in his stick-like wanderings; and kwirlam the purple swamphen all dark and round, ball-like, close to the ground. Kwirlam is one of the few, if not the only bird, who’ll stay within the lake’s area when it dries completely. Not quite there yet, wayan stays around the lake, walking the drier and sometimes wetter areas; this day he’s half-way between both, quietly sizing up the insects in front of him. And from the south comes one kwirlm, hoofing along at a trot, surely not going to run right into wayan. But yes, we (me and wayan) both seem to see this at the last minute. I expect wayan to back away, this not being fully his place, but he raises up his wings, extends his neck and uncoils as if to throw his beak at kwirlam, spear like, and adding to this a kind of high-guttural cry. Kwirlam is taken aback, pauses, retreats a step, and then walks around wayan. Was I the only one who noticed this epic standoff between the nervous, head-like heron, and the round, digestive hen?