That heron looks like it's pondering the meaning of life—or lunch.

The heron’s quiet stance seemed to echo the stillness of the moment. It stood as though it had claimed this stretch of water as its own personal kingdom. The light scattered across the lake’s surface like shards of glass, catching every movement—a ripple here, a bird’s shadow there. I found myself drawn to the contrast between the soft glow of the water and the sharp outlines of the skeletal trees. A solitary bird broke from a distant branch and soared into the fading light; its wings cut through the air with an elegance that felt almost otherworldly. The heron didn’t flinch. It simply remained there, steady and unbothered, as if it had long since made peace with the transient nature of everything around it.