This morning I was up at Mona Reservoir for a long run. I had it all to myself, for the most part. Just me and some music in my ears and my thoughts in my head. For a minute, in this solitude, I pretend that Kingston is all mine as I look down upon it and up at the Blue Mountains. The mist hovered above them as the sun climbed higher, it rolled in and out. Other than a few workers from the reservoir who came and went, my only company consisted of several species of birds. I would never consider myself a birdwatcher or anything, but I do appreciate them as I trot around the circle of water.

There is something so comforting about their stately presence. They perch together at the shore, different kinds all mingling in harmony. The pelicans swoop and crash into the water in their attempt to skewer breakfast. There is a smallish dark bird that possesses feathers of such a stunning, dark, chalky, dusty, navy blue that contrasts with a purple neck and a periwinkle blue beak that I stare every time I see them. The pure white herons stand with grace on the cement wall, their necks so long and their head swivelling to watch as I pass by. Sometimes they perceive me as a threat and take off, so powerful and efficient, their wingspan lifting them above us all.

Often, I can hear the sound of the feathers on their wings rubbing together. It is a sound like no other, so beautiful. How can I describe it? It is silky, gentle, smooth, soft and like nothing that a human being could ever emit. The sounds hovers for just seconds in my ear before the bird is lifted too high above me. It is an otherworldly noise and I feel privileged to hear it. For a moment, I can escape out of my life and into a moment in which I experience nature and beauty and grace.

I left the reservoir with some peace this morning and delved back into the concrete, noise and heat of Kingston for another blessed day.