By Kim Mayer, Journal contributor

My book group on-island takes a hiatus of a couple months in winter with a great classic as our read. This year it’s Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina.” At an age where we all have more time than ever, we’ll whistle through it much like we devoured Dicken’s David Copperfield last winter. New literature will simply have to wait; it’s become a tradition to start each new year with a thick classic. This may or may not be as bizarre as other New Year traditions, my favorite of which is Las doce uvas de la suerte, the Spanish custom of eating 12 grapes under the table on New Year’s Eve.

In birding circles, the first bird one spots on Jan. 1 is considered a sign for the rest of the year. A sparrow promises better days ahead, a goldfinch brings happiness and prosperity, a grosbeak heals old wounds, etc. Did I even remember to look for birds on Jan. 1? I think not. I am spending the holidays in San Diego, and unless I’m in a park or the beach, I’m not sure to even see a bird here. Shocking to say when birds are overhead and all around us on-island. There, time stands still when I notice the heron, and I always do.

The heron surely represents patience. Poised like sculpture, wading in water — both freshwater and coastal — scanning for small fish, the great blue heron stands 4 foot tall on long skinny legs which possibly looking like reeds in the water. Extending their long necks they strike their prey with lightning speed, spearing with razor-sharp bills.

Nesting high in trees and with outstretched wings of 6 feet, the great blue heron is a common sight in Western Washington where we are fortunate to have them as year-round residents. Consider the Pacific Northwest a sanctuary for the great blue heron. A refuge for all of us who, like birds, want to be left alone.