Blue Heron
This wasn't one of those days.
Nada and I had driven over to St. Augustine with every
intention of spending the day doing a little photography and a little shopping.
Like so many of our adventures, we didn't have much of an itinerary beyond
enjoying the day together.
Our first stop was the lighthouse.
I'd seen photographs of it for years and thought maybe I'd
come home with one of my own.
It's a beautiful lighthouse.
Historic.
Majestic.
Everything a lighthouse ought to be.
But after walking around for a while, something just wasn't
clicking.
I wasn't seeing my photograph.
There's nothing wrong with photographing famous places.
I've just learned over the years that if a scene doesn't
speak to me, no amount of wishful thinking is going to change that.
So I wandered across the street.
Down to the water.
The afternoon was perfectly still.
The kind of stillness that makes the water look more like
polished glass than a bay.
Sailboats rested quietly at anchor, barely moving, as though
they, too, were enjoying the peaceful afternoon.
Nada saw him first.
A great blue heron.
Standing in the shallows no more than ten or fifteen yards
away.
He wasn't the least bit concerned that Nada and I were
there.
In fact, he behaved like a celebrity who had already signed
all the autographs and was now patiently posing for photographs.
We took our time.
He took his.
Nobody seemed to be in a hurry.
Eventually he spread his magnificent wings and lifted into
the air.
I remember thinking...
"Well, that was nice while it lasted."
I couldn't have been more wrong.
He flew a short distance, circled around us, and landed on
the other side as though he had suddenly decided,
"The light's better over here."
I don't know if birds think like photographers.
But that afternoon, it certainly seemed possible.
When he took flight again, I was ready.
That's the photograph hanging on my wall today.
It reminds me that sometimes the places we travel to aren't
where the real story is waiting.
Sometimes it's standing quietly across the street...
Waiting for us to stop looking so hard.
Photographer's Notes

Comments
Post a Comment