This was me…
… spending my lunch hours exercising while watching one of four mounted TVs at my local rec center. Which isn’t a bad thing except I went from looking at one screen (my computer) to staring blankly at another. Granted guessing which home our archetypal, HGTV house-hunting couple would purchase was mildly entertaining, but I felt something was missing.
My life seemed as repetitive as the show … House 1 or House 2 or House 3, which abode would our erstwhile couple choose. Go to work, work out, go back to work. Same routine over and over, a constant shuffling from one controlled environment to another.
Getting Out
I decided to break out of my mundane routine and leave my virtual prison by venturing outside. I work in an industrial part of town so finding a place to walk was a challenge. I tried several local parks but driving to them took a good chunk of my lunch hour. I settled on a bike path along the South Platte River in Denver. The path, nestled between two factories, was somewhat scenic (except for the occasional tire and trash strewn about) and had the advantage of being only five minutes from work.
And then the Unexpected Happened
On one of my walks I ran across a large bird (almost two foot high) with bright red eyes. A stranger passing by thought it might be from a local zoo. I couldn’t get a good picture on my phone, so I went out and bought a Nikon 30 zoom camera. I returned the next day and got a shot of the first of many bird pictures to come. The strange creature turned out not to be an errant zoo denizen after all, but a Black-crowned Night-heron.
And that wasn’t the only bird I saw that day, check out this beautiful white Snowy Egret. I couldn’t believe I was seeing these birds in an industrial district just outside Denver.
Needless to say I was hooked.
Between Two Factories
And that is how my journey began. It started with the sighting of these two big, beautiful birds. This blog, is all about my lunch hour adventures between two factories and what you can find if you just stop and look.
