The heron doesn’t arrive loudly.
It appears,
as if it has always been there.

Still.
Balanced.
Unbothered by the rush of the world around it.

Its neck curves like a thought held carefully,
long lines drawn with patience.
Every movement deliberate,
never wasted.

There is elegance in the way it waits.
In how it trusts timing over urgency.
In how it stands tall without needing attention.

Watching a heron feels like being reminded
that grace doesn’t rush,
and beauty doesn’t perform.

Its colours are quiet,
stone, ash, soft shadow.
Nothing loud, nothing trying too hard.
And yet, you can’t look away.

If the heron were style,
it wouldn’t follow trends.
It would choose clean lines,
natural tones,
pieces that speak through shape and presence.

It would dress the way it lives,
unforced, intentional,
comfortable in its own silhouette.

Today, on my walk, I watched one stand at the water’s edge,
perfectly composed,
completely itself.
And I realised that nature has always understood
what fashion sometimes forgets.

True elegance is calm.
It is rooted.
It is knowing when to move
and when to simply be.

And that’s why herons are so beautiful.