There are mornings that arrive with purpose.
And then there are mornings that arrive… just because.
This was one of the latter.
I had taken up my usual post—no grand plan, no target species circled on a mental checklist. Just me, a camera, and the quiet agreement I’ve made with nature over the years:
I’ll show up… you decide the rest.
Now, if you’ve never tried it, “standing still and waiting” sounds like a suspiciously lazy hobby.
Let me assure you—it is anything but.
For a man wired to do, the act of waiting becomes an exercise in disguise.
A quiet kind of doing.
An internal negotiation.
A discipline.
So there I was… doing absolutely nothing… very intently.
And then—like a whisper that didn’t want to be overheard—a pair of Ring-necked Ducks materialized in the distance.
Not announced.
Not dramatic.
Just… there.
The light, still undecided about the day, hovered low and cool along the waterline.
But above it—ah, above it—the sun began stretching its arms.
And with that stretch, everything changed.
The treetops caught fire first.
Gold. Soft. Almost hesitant.
But here’s the trick nature played…
Those golden rays never touched the trees directly in my frame.
No, they chose a more elegant path—
They revealed themselves only in reflection.
Which meant the sunrise… appeared at my feet.
The top of the world stayed cool and subdued, while the bottom—the reflection—glowed like a secret being shared only with those paying attention.
Now that… that’ll stop you in your tracks.
Click.
One frame. Maybe two.
And I knew.
Not hoped.
Not guessed.
Knew.
That quiet little screen on the back of the camera confirmed it—
This one had something.
But here’s where it gets interesting.
I stopped photographing.
Not because there was nothing left to shoot…
But because there was everything left to feel.
The scene continued to evolve—the light inching, stretching, reconsidering itself with each passing second.
And I found myself slipping out of “photographer mode”…
…and into something far better.
Presence.
You can’t fake that.
You can’t rush it.
You certainly can’t manufacture it.
You either allow it…
Or you miss it.
And for a moment—just a moment—I felt weightless.
Like I had quietly stepped into the photograph instead of merely capturing it.
Calm has a way of sneaking up on you like that.
It doesn’t knock.
It just settles in.
And just as I was fully committed to becoming part of this peaceful little masterpiece…
WHOOOSH.
A Double-crested Cormorant came barreling in like a low-flying torpedo with a schedule to keep.
Directly at me.
Now, nothing—and I mean nothing—restores your reflexes faster than 5 pounds of determined bird coming in hot at eye level.
Zen? Gone.
Floating? Cancelled.
Philosopher? Back to photographer in 0.3 seconds.
Camera up.
Track.
Click.
Got him as he banked left—wings wide, prehistoric and unapologetic.
And just like that… the spell was broken.
But not lost.
Because mornings like this don’t need a reason.
They don’t need a headline species or a dramatic chase.
Sometimes, all they require…
is that you show up, stay still long enough…
…and let them happen.
The cormorant?
Well… that’s tomorrow’s story.
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