American River
morning
cool, breezy, scattered clouds
changing light
Little birds chirp and zip back and forth between the trees. Painters laugh and joke amongst each other.
A hawk flies overhead, calling out repeatedly. What was he saying? Was he angry? Concerned? Calling out for someone? I've seen hawks hunting many times and they're deadly silent then.
Forgetting to focus, Kira says it could be a metaphor for life - funny, since I was just talking to a group of artists last night about that very subject.
Regained focus and a different perspective - another metaphor for life -
Starting to warm up, clouds have blown away, the wind rustles in the trees and the birds have quieted a bit. A cricket chirps somewhere hidden.
I find my way to a big sand bar that juts out into the middle of the river - though sand bar may not be the right words - it's covered by small river rocks and clam shells. A seagull flies low over the water, dipping almost to touch, then rises back up again. A whole flock sits on a quiet spot until suddenly they all take off at once, wheeling and spinning slowly as a group up, around, up and gone.
The water makes a rushing sound over the shallows here. A small white cattle egret flies low overhead, skims the surface of the water and lands in the shallows a few yards away. I sit and watch, torn between wanting to be closer and knowing that as soon as I move the bird will be gone again.
I watch the egret for some time - even get closer, watch him catch & eat a tiny silver fish, slowly getting closer, almost close enough for a shot - then a couple cyclists enter, scaring the bird farther off again and sending me in the opposite direction.
A couple fishermen float/paddle down river.
No comments:
Post a Comment