Today I spent some time in my reading nook with a good book,
my feet up, and a strong, but not furious, wind blowing just outside an open
window.
In other words, about as perfect a reading environment as
you could hope for.
Not every day is perfect.
Actually, no day is perfect.
But we are, occasionally, treated to perfect moments.
Earlier, I sat in my car and watched the Great Blue Heron
nest at the Wetlands. Both parents were
there this morning and both babies up and awake, under a blue sky and fresh
sunrise.
All four seemed to be having an important conversation, I’m
assuming something like Where’s breakfast?
and Why aren’t the kids bathed and ready
to go? and Can I pour orange juice on
my cereal?
After I left the nest, I found my herd of deer gathered in
the field as usual and even though I can never get a good picture of them, I
don’t even care anymore—I just want to see them. I swear one of the does looks pregnant. Could a spotted fawn be on the way?
I left the Wetlands and, based on a tip from a friend,
headed to Wickham Park and the surrounding neighborhoods on the lookout for
wild parrots. If I hadn’t seen the
picture my friend sent, I wouldn’t have believed such a thing possible. But I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to
maybe finally see parrots in the wild for myself.
In the twenty years that I have lived in Florida, I have
never been to Wickham Park.
I’m not sure why except that I always pictured it crowded
and when I’m out taking pictures, just one stranger within a hundred feet of me
makes it crowded.
It was crowded this morning and the Kid-a-palooza scheduled
for the park today hadn’t even started.
Wickham Park felt odd, at first way too large to have managed
to fit inside one city block. How big
was this place? It felt like I had stumbled on Brigadoon.
And then, in addition to
big, it was filled with winding roads, and all sorts of activities, from prayer
groups to dog parks to horseback riding.
I had no idea where I was going, but hoped that eventually
one of the roads would lead back out to Wickham Road. As I was running low on gas, it was not a day
to wander.
I did park though for a few minutes and walk around a lake
that had both a sign that said “Swim at your own risk” and another sign a few
feet later that said, “No swimming.”
There were seagulls in the shallow water, bathing and
drinking and none seemed concerned with me.
But then, suddenly they all took flight, as a Bald Eagle sailed
across the water and flew to the top of an enormous tree on the far side.
The seagulls made several loops and then settled back down
in their spot in the shallows, feathers unruffled, as if the end of their world
hadn’t almost just happened.
I plan to return to Wickham Park in the near future. There are just too many opportunities there
for new nature pictures.
I didn’t find my parrots.
And I’m still on the look out for the albino squirrels
spotted at Gleason Park a few years ago.
But everything Wickham Park offered was new and different
and unexpected, and in brief moments—perfect.
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