I can't imagine a more perfect start to any day, let only Christmas, than driving out to the river to watch the sunrise and standing there in such utter silence that the wings of a Great Blue Heron moving through the air sound like a thunderclap.
I went to the river to take pictures of the sunrise, of clouds and water. I didn't expect so much wildlife already active and moving just before the day had even started. I was startled by fish leaping out of the water and I stood in awe as a solitary dolphin swam (and really that verb does not do it justice) through the still water.
Ten minutes later, I arrived at church for the early Christmas Day service blissfully happy and ready for the day.
After the service, I drove to the Wetlands because it was just too beautiful a day to skip it. The sky held just the right amount of sun and clouds. The temperature was just warm enough not to be cold. My camera battery was charged and I was ready for whatever wildlife might appear.
And I was not disappointed. A lone male cardinal hugged a bare branch on the side of the road. A red-shouldered hawk hopped along the other side of the fence into ranch and cattle territory, gathering long grass, dried and browned and perfect for nesting. I spotted a small bird in the reeds and took its picture not even knowing what it was. Its black mask and yellow chest and throat revealed it to be an appropriately named yellowthroat.
As I took the yellowthroat's picture, two ibises behind me began to squabble and fight. I've seen birds, cormorants mostly, fight for a single rock in the water. And the other day, I saw two vultures chasing another one down, wrestling it to the road. And I have to say, I find the violence shocking, I guess because I expect birds to fight with prey, but not with each other.
On the way home, as I passed a golf course, I looked to the tall lights for an eagle I had seen a year ago. These days the lights had been mostly manned by osprey, but today, the large bird sitting there beckoned me to pull over and give it another look.
I pulled into the parking lot and zoomed in on the white head, expecting the characteristic brown sweep around the eyes that marks the osprey, but this bird's head was pure white. I had found my bald eagle.
I snapped picture after picture knowing that if I wanted one worth showing, I had to take dozens.
A man was finishing up on the driving range. I pointed out the eagle to him.
"Oh yeah," he said, "we see them all the time."
"I don't," I said. "That's why I had to stop."
He asked me almost immediately if I published my photos and I wondered to myself what made him leap to that conclusion and then I wanted to kick myself for not having a business card to give him. I told him about the bobcat at Hope, how blessed we were to live in Florida with all this life and he told me that there was a mountain lion (or panther) that occasionally appeared around the eleventh hole.
And as I drove home, I thought this is what life should be about, chance encounters with strangers and the sharing of things that astound, amaze and bring tears to our eyes.
Later, I took a walk. It had just rained, that perfect mixture of sun and clouds giving way to the rain, but I thought the rain was moving away from me. It wasn't and on my way back, the skies opened and the rain drenched me.
It wasn't a Florida thunderstorm. It was a heavy shower. It felt like a summer rain in upstate New York where I grew up. It was a rain that reminded me that once upon a time, I used to play in the rain. I used to ride my bike in the rain.
I used to laugh and giggle in the rain.
And now, once again, the rain brought a smile to my wet face.
Embrace these moments. Hold them tight.
I went to the river to take pictures of the sunrise, of clouds and water. I didn't expect so much wildlife already active and moving just before the day had even started. I was startled by fish leaping out of the water and I stood in awe as a solitary dolphin swam (and really that verb does not do it justice) through the still water.
Ten minutes later, I arrived at church for the early Christmas Day service blissfully happy and ready for the day.
After the service, I drove to the Wetlands because it was just too beautiful a day to skip it. The sky held just the right amount of sun and clouds. The temperature was just warm enough not to be cold. My camera battery was charged and I was ready for whatever wildlife might appear.
And I was not disappointed. A lone male cardinal hugged a bare branch on the side of the road. A red-shouldered hawk hopped along the other side of the fence into ranch and cattle territory, gathering long grass, dried and browned and perfect for nesting. I spotted a small bird in the reeds and took its picture not even knowing what it was. Its black mask and yellow chest and throat revealed it to be an appropriately named yellowthroat.
As I took the yellowthroat's picture, two ibises behind me began to squabble and fight. I've seen birds, cormorants mostly, fight for a single rock in the water. And the other day, I saw two vultures chasing another one down, wrestling it to the road. And I have to say, I find the violence shocking, I guess because I expect birds to fight with prey, but not with each other.
On the way home, as I passed a golf course, I looked to the tall lights for an eagle I had seen a year ago. These days the lights had been mostly manned by osprey, but today, the large bird sitting there beckoned me to pull over and give it another look.
I pulled into the parking lot and zoomed in on the white head, expecting the characteristic brown sweep around the eyes that marks the osprey, but this bird's head was pure white. I had found my bald eagle.
I snapped picture after picture knowing that if I wanted one worth showing, I had to take dozens.
A man was finishing up on the driving range. I pointed out the eagle to him.
"Oh yeah," he said, "we see them all the time."
"I don't," I said. "That's why I had to stop."
He asked me almost immediately if I published my photos and I wondered to myself what made him leap to that conclusion and then I wanted to kick myself for not having a business card to give him. I told him about the bobcat at Hope, how blessed we were to live in Florida with all this life and he told me that there was a mountain lion (or panther) that occasionally appeared around the eleventh hole.
And as I drove home, I thought this is what life should be about, chance encounters with strangers and the sharing of things that astound, amaze and bring tears to our eyes.
Later, I took a walk. It had just rained, that perfect mixture of sun and clouds giving way to the rain, but I thought the rain was moving away from me. It wasn't and on my way back, the skies opened and the rain drenched me.
It wasn't a Florida thunderstorm. It was a heavy shower. It felt like a summer rain in upstate New York where I grew up. It was a rain that reminded me that once upon a time, I used to play in the rain. I used to ride my bike in the rain.
I used to laugh and giggle in the rain.
And now, once again, the rain brought a smile to my wet face.
Embrace these moments. Hold them tight.
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