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We leave the condo, cross the causeway, and drive to St. Charles Bay. The road runs right by the waterfront. A solitary great blue heron, ankle-deep in the water, keeps his stoic watch. Three ducks, startled by our appearance, splash away from the shore.
As we drive slowly along, two brown pelicans glide beside us, their still wings catching unseen air currents. On a pier up ahead, white pelicans and cormorants perch together. Turkey vultures gather where fishermen have gutted their fish.
And this is all bayside. When we turn our gaze inland, cattle graze in a field. Alongside the cows are the cranes, maybe a dozen sandhill cranes and at least twenty whooping cranes, standing five feet tall. Most of the “whoopers” strut along calmly, searching for food, but a few take flight, displaying the distinctive black feathers at the tips of their great white wings, calling out to the others before landing again.
Scanning the field through binoculars, I notice something atop a small tree: A crested caracara sits unmoving, watching for prey. In the field are two ponds. At the one closest to the bay, snowy egrets gather among the reeds. From the other pond, eight roseate spoonbills flush into the air.
As if to demand that these big birds don’t get all the attention, a murmuration of blackbirds – at least a hundred - perch on the power lines right above where we are parked.
We’ve traveled less than five miles, never gotten more than ten yards from the car, and all this magnificent avian wonder appears before us!
I recently discovered a British website, Nature Speaks, that calls us to “attentive wondering” – “a way of paying attention … that is neither effortful focus nor drifting thought, but a relational mode of attention – one that stays with what is present long enough for curiosity to deepen rather than scatter.” The author goes on to write, “When attention is given in this way, care arises naturally – not as duty, but as response.”
May it be so, not only by St. Charles Bay, but every day.
-- Bill
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