I had paused at the end of the dirt trail just long enough to take a breath and turn around to finish my pre-run warm up when I heard her call: “quark;”and then, whoosh and no more than three flaps of large wings and then, nothing ....
Big.
Where? I hold my breath.

There!
She has landed on the other side of the briny stream at the end of the path where I stand peering. She is there in the craggy branches of the low-lying beach trees—close enough to keep an eye on me, but not close enough for me to get a good bead on her.
I make my way quietly inland, closer.
Peering into the day’s waning light, I wait. She lowers her head for a split second, displaying the bright yellow stripe at her crown. Then, head up, she looks straight toward the sea, in profile, one eye focused on the two-legged observer.
Horizontal stripes, black and white, frame the eye. Long beak, orange-yellow legs.
I try to snap a mental picture so I can later identify her in our well-worn “Guide to Birds of the West Indies.”
Never have I seen such a creature. What is she?
Voluptuous grey body, smooth, imagine velvet. The light is fading. Neither of us stir.
Five minutes; 10 minutes.
I long to see her fly again; I long for her to acknowledge our connection, but light fails and she knows enough not to draw attention with movement.
It’s love at first sight and I don’t know if I will ever see her again.
“Please,” I silently pray, “look at me; know me.”
But staring statue-like dead ahead, she wins the standoff. Slowly, still praying, I move through the bush to the path and back toward the parking lot and my end-of-day run. I look back. Silence. As if she were never there.
Later, at home it takes some searching to find her. I start to think she’s a phantom. But finally I flip a page and there she is: Yellow-Crowned Night Heron!
"Solitary."
"Nocturnal."
"Most often heard before sun-up and after sundown." Clearly a gift of Nature to me that dusky evening. And a gift from the long since passed benefactor to us all: Arthur Fairchild.
Thank you Arthur for the quiet, tranquil habitat that is your legacy: Magens Bay.

In 1943 Arthur Fairchild deeded 50 acres of land known as Magens Bay under the condition it be "Maintained as a public park (with its natural beauty preserved) for use by the people of the Virgin Islands in perpetuity."