The Silence of Solitude
Where there is no sense of time and light is always hidden, the last great blue heron stood tall and regal in the dark swamp. Its azure feathers, once a brilliant display against the obsidian backdrop, now seemed to absorb what little light reached the depths of the murky waters. The swamp echoed with the silence of solitude, broken only by the occasional mournful call of the heron, a lonely melody that resonated through the shadows.
~ Robert David Atkinson