Thanks for Nothing, Groundhog

Today the groundhog saw his shadow.

Six more weeks of winter.

Thanks, but I’ll go with my robin sighting yesterday and hope for an early spring.

There is a randomness to the world, isn’t there?

To how we decide to view the world based on one day, at one time, sun versus clouds, and persnickety groundhogs?

This morning when I drove the Wetlands, I began with the sun behind me.  I drove under blue skies and with such a still wind that the waters looked ethereal, almost too real.  A Pie-billed Grebe drifted past the tiniest of baby gators without a care.  Even the gator, with eyes barely open, seemed caught in a dreamlike state.

But as I made the turn, the sun fell into my eyes and it was blinding and suddenly all the birds were in shadow.  I saw an animal lurch in front of me on the road and I turned and rolled down my window just in time to see an otter walk in that awkward way that all creatures that spend most of their life in water do when faced with the task of maneuvering the land, shamble into the brush.

My picture of him was horrible, the sun still in my eyes and in my camera lens.  The camera could not decide what to focus on.

I turned again and drove on and this time the sun was at a different angle, just off to my right, but now the wind had shifted and smoke from a distant brushfire drifted in front of the sun.  No more blue skies.  Now only gray light to backlight a Great Blue Heron and her new baby, who cried to be fed.

She did what I see Great Blue Heron mothers do with their babies every year when they won’t be quiet.  She shook her rump, settled down and sat on him.

Again, the lighting, the speed at which the action moved—I barely caught a picture of the baby’s head between her legs.

I drove on, now the sun further to my right.  I scanned the field for deer and there they were, closer to the road than usual, but seemingly always aware of when I’m there with my camera.  Their ears pricked, alert.

I always catch them like this.  They are always in this field at this time of day and the sun is always behind them, casting them all in a golden glow.

Perspective, point of view. 

Did I leave the Wetlands cursing my bad luck with the otter and heron?

Or did I leave giving thanks for the grebe and gator and deer?

Just like with the groundhog—we must accept the randomness of life and what the world gives us can depend on something as simple as which way we are facing.