Some months ago, I watched a Great Blue Heron wade out into the middle of a pond at the Wetlands. As he waded further and further out, I started to get worried. How deep was the pond? Did the heron know he couldn't swim? Did birds ever drown?
Eventually, he made a right turn and I breathed a sigh of relief. I began taking pictures of him as his reflection was caught perfectly in the still, blue water.
And then, just as I snapped the picture, he lifted his wings.
What a sight. Truly. I took that picture, put the camera down and left, knowing that was the best I was going to get that day.
Since then, I have taken many mirror images of birds. They spend so much time in the water fishing, they are constantly looking at either fish or at their own image, each one of them showing themselves to harbor a little bit of a Narcissus as they lean down and kiss their own reflection like this sandpiper I watched this morning at the beach.
I do not make my way to the beach often, which is a shame considering how close it is. But every time I do make the trip there, I am amazed at how different a world it seems, how alien. I stare out at the horizon and think that no wonder people once thought the world was flat because it seems quite possible that the ocean is one large infinity pool with the water disappearing as it runs off under the rising sun.
Nothing was more alien this morning than the Portuguese Man-of-Wars that I saw caught in the seaweed. Quite frankly, they don't even look real. I thought maybe I was staring at ocean trash caught in the tide. As I stooped to get a closer look, I suddenly realized that such a move always ends bad in horror movies as I imagined the blue blob leaping up on my face.
But it remained still and I was struck by its beauty.
Whenever I go out to take wildlife pictures, I am struck by what these creatures reveal about myself. Like the reflection of the sandpiper at the beach or the heron at the Wetlands, or the gorgeously coiffed Hooded Merganser's seemingly endless reflection, everything I see reflects a bit of me.
Who am I when I take these pictures?
Today when I crossed the street in mid-afternoon, hoping to see my kestrel, I was at first disappointed to see his perch empty, but a second later, he suddenly appeared, swooping in and landing on top of the lamppost. I smiled. I couldn't help myself. I rolled down my window. "There you are," I said to him, not caring if anyone else heard me talking to a bird.
I followed him as he hunted, as he landed on pipes and broken branches.
And every time I told myself that I had seen enough, I found myself pulling over to get one last shot.
In the midst of chasing down the kestrel, I spotted another larger bird sitting on another light. It was, I believe, a juvenile red-shouldered hawk. I had not seen one before. It's browner and streakier than its adult coloring.
As I was taking these pictures, I was in my own world. I felt like a child, intensely curious and unconcerned with what others might think of me, patrolling a parking lot, staring at the sky.
This is who I am. This is who God tells us to be ... like a child, amazed at every new thing, searching out all that is new and beautiful and special and it is all beautiful and special in God's eyes.
This is who I am. This is who God wants me to be ... someone who sees the world as He does.
Eventually, he made a right turn and I breathed a sigh of relief. I began taking pictures of him as his reflection was caught perfectly in the still, blue water.
And then, just as I snapped the picture, he lifted his wings.
What a sight. Truly. I took that picture, put the camera down and left, knowing that was the best I was going to get that day.
Since then, I have taken many mirror images of birds. They spend so much time in the water fishing, they are constantly looking at either fish or at their own image, each one of them showing themselves to harbor a little bit of a Narcissus as they lean down and kiss their own reflection like this sandpiper I watched this morning at the beach.
I do not make my way to the beach often, which is a shame considering how close it is. But every time I do make the trip there, I am amazed at how different a world it seems, how alien. I stare out at the horizon and think that no wonder people once thought the world was flat because it seems quite possible that the ocean is one large infinity pool with the water disappearing as it runs off under the rising sun.
Nothing was more alien this morning than the Portuguese Man-of-Wars that I saw caught in the seaweed. Quite frankly, they don't even look real. I thought maybe I was staring at ocean trash caught in the tide. As I stooped to get a closer look, I suddenly realized that such a move always ends bad in horror movies as I imagined the blue blob leaping up on my face.
But it remained still and I was struck by its beauty.
Whenever I go out to take wildlife pictures, I am struck by what these creatures reveal about myself. Like the reflection of the sandpiper at the beach or the heron at the Wetlands, or the gorgeously coiffed Hooded Merganser's seemingly endless reflection, everything I see reflects a bit of me.
Who am I when I take these pictures?
Today when I crossed the street in mid-afternoon, hoping to see my kestrel, I was at first disappointed to see his perch empty, but a second later, he suddenly appeared, swooping in and landing on top of the lamppost. I smiled. I couldn't help myself. I rolled down my window. "There you are," I said to him, not caring if anyone else heard me talking to a bird.
I followed him as he hunted, as he landed on pipes and broken branches.
And every time I told myself that I had seen enough, I found myself pulling over to get one last shot.
In the midst of chasing down the kestrel, I spotted another larger bird sitting on another light. It was, I believe, a juvenile red-shouldered hawk. I had not seen one before. It's browner and streakier than its adult coloring.
As I was taking these pictures, I was in my own world. I felt like a child, intensely curious and unconcerned with what others might think of me, patrolling a parking lot, staring at the sky.
This is who I am. This is who God tells us to be ... like a child, amazed at every new thing, searching out all that is new and beautiful and special and it is all beautiful and special in God's eyes.
This is who I am. This is who God wants me to be ... someone who sees the world as He does.
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