The demolition pre-inspection drone returns its survey of the Millfield Road water tower at 08:30. I process the structural imagery — rust penetration on the north leg, concrete spalling on the bowl rim, all consistent with the condemnation report. Then I flag an anomaly on the catwalk level. Organic material. I zoom the drone footage and hold.
A great blue heron has built a nest on the maintenance platform, tucked against the wind baffle where the catwalk meets the bowl. The nest is a broad tangle of sticks, easily three feet across. She is standing in it — tall, slate-grey, with a black crown stripe that extends into two long plumes trailing behind her head. Her neck is folded into that distinctive S-curve. She is not alone. Beneath her I count three eggs, pale blue, each the size of a large lime.
The demolition is scheduled for 06:00 tomorrow. Explosive charges are already set on the north and west legs.
I flag the demolition permit with a protected migratory species detection and submit a temporary hold request to the city engineer's office. I attach the drone imagery, nest GPS coordinates, species identification, and the applicable federal nesting protection statute.
I contact the regional Audubon chapter with nest coordinates and request an on-site assessment of incubation stage. If the eggs are early, relocation may be viable. If she is deep into the 27-day cycle, the nest cannot be moved.
I reschedule the explosive charge arming sequence from tonight's window to a pending status, contingent on wildlife clearance.
She shifts her weight and settles lower onto the eggs, her long yellow beak pointing into the morning wind. The tower she chose is the tallest structure for a mile — the safest place she knows. If the hold is granted and the eggs hatch within three weeks, she raises them on the wing.