a most awesome and beautiful thing

This morning. I went out to buy bacon. I took Euclid. I bought bacon. We didn't go right home; we went on an extended walk.

   We were heading E on Dickinson (like the poet), a few streets N of home. At the dead east end of Dickinson is woods — a greenbelt running north south. There is a heron rookery.

---d--------  ^^^^^   ~~~~~~
            ^^^^†^^   ~~~~

---L--------   ^^^^^   ~~~~

             ^^^^^^   ~~~~
---b--------  ^^^^     ~~~

            ^^^^^      ~~~~~
---b----------------  ~~~~~

              ^^^^^^   ~~~~
---g---<3---   ^^^   ~~~~~~

Much of the greenbelt is a hillside.

Legend:

• d = Dickinson St
• ~~ = sea water
• --- = street [see that the southerly "b" street is a steep through-street down the hill to the water]
• ^^ = trees
• † = an approximate location of the rookery [known to me previously]
• <3 = home

An eagle! and a heron! swooped in front of us, so close — I saw individual feathers of the eagle's wing. The eagle was chasing the heron. I exclaimed — surprised. I exclaimed more — awed. They paid no heed to me, yawping monkey with a little dog.
   The eagle seemed calm, if lethal focus can be said to be calm. The heron beat it; the eagle pursued; the heron seemed to lead the eagle to the rookery!? Euclid and I ran after them! They flew out of sight, into the woods.
   Then we heard the heron(?) start shrieking. It started and didn't stop. We halted at the ivy-laced skirts of the woods. Then exploded a cacophony of what must have been all the herons — louder, louder! Other birds in the woods started too. I couldn't see but trees and little flitting birds fleeing, but beyond us it sounded like a great battle.
   The whole woods' air was rent with avian screams.

We ran home to Bjorn. I could hear the herons nearly the whole way.