When your legs are all the rage in the bird world.

The bird stood like a quiet sentinel, its impossibly long legs rooted to the earth as though it had always belonged there. The water nearby rippled gently, reflecting fragments of sky and reeds. Its black and white feathers seemed drawn with precision, a study in contrast that made it impossible to look away. I thought about how something so delicate could appear so composed, as if it carried no weight beyond its own existence. A gust of wind stirred the reeds briefly but left the bird unmoved—a stillness that seemed almost defiant.