In the Pink...

Google informs me that the phrase "in the pink" means in perfect condition, and is used especially of health.  I like the cliche for its implications.  "In the pink" is certainly apt description for how I feel when I can get outside.  Sometimes I am drawn to particular places; always I am alert to the presence of wildlife--the winged ones, the four-footed, even insects. I like the feel of wind on my face and I like the still, meditative feeling of the very air holding its breath when the breeze abates. No matter what's the matter, I always find solace, strength, serenity, whatever I need in the outdoors.

Afterglow

Lately, I've been drawn to pink. And yellow. I'm not imagining the pretty pastel wardrobes of spring gardens, though with another colder-than-usual winter I am not adverse to that idea! Rather I am seeing shades of pinks and yellows as backdrops to something else, different hues where I usually see blues or grays. The more I think about these shades, the more they seem to appear. The other afternoon as I was driving home from a wonderful encounter with my first ever Snow Bunting, thanks to the generosity of fellow photographer and birder Jeff Lewis who called to tell me where it was, I had pink on my mind.

Snow Bunting, Bodie Island

By the time I reached the road into my little island home, the sun set, turning sky and sound into a glorious wash of pink. I stopped at a small public access and photographed some Canada Geese floating in what looked like hot pink and purple ribbons.

Last month I watched a group of Snow Geese take wing into paler pink skies.

All of these outings and sightings definitely help me stay "in the pink." Hopefully you will feel the same way.

On Reflection...

For the past month, members of the Outer Banks region of the Carolinas Nature Photographers Association (CNPA) have focused on "Reflections" as our monthly theme. As I write this blog, the cold northeast wind is gusting over 40 mph, driving rain sideways. The Outer Banks is noted for nearly constant winds--that's the main reason the Wright Brothers came here from Ohio to test their gliders in preparation for the first powered flight on December 17, 1903. Ranging from light breezes to strong gusty gales, Outer Banks air is seldom still. That makes mirror reflections more of a challenge here than in areas with calm, clear lakes or slow-flowing rivers.

I find maintaining a still, calm, reflective heart is as much of a challenge as photographing mirror-like reflections. I think I reflect my best self, the self that is most connected both to the world around me and to God, in those moments. Sometimes they are literally moments, heartbeats and breaths in the midst of a busier, fast-paced day.

This reflection is precious to me since Pete and I were riding on a jet boat tour of the Colorado River. Most of the ride created a wake that rippled the water into waves and distorted reflections. At certain river bends, my view ahead gave brief moments of stillness. This is one of those.

This particular reflection taught me that even an inch of rainwater can act as a mirror, if the angle and light are right. Bodie Island Light, 2006, after a winter rain. I'd gone to search for egrets but the rainwater puddles provided the best view of the day. My larger lesson here is that sometimes calm comes as a gift even when I am focused anywhere but.

Sometimes wind can be an advantage, inviting the viewer into a fantasy world instead of mirroring reality. I created When Trees Dream in December, 2007 on the north end of Roanoke Island. Sometimes I use my meditative moments to imagine beauty and find gratitude even in the midst of life's storms.

Finally, here is one of the images I shared with our photo group last night: a group of Northern Shovelers resting on a rare windless, cold winter morning at Pea Island in January 2015. I find that my spirit as well as my eye rests in reflecting imagery and the sense of quiet such photographs imply.

Early Spring? Not until Osprey arrive.

Sometimes we have seasons in our lives when themes seem to repeat themselves, over and over. I find this true with photography, too. I need to pay attention when certain motifs show up time and again. I've learned to be more aware when this happens with particular birds or critters, and ask for the greater lesson in the appearances. I find that each one always brings its own gifts. I recently made a new friend for whom Osprey and Red-tailed Hawks are messengers. I love them both myself but am especially alert these days for woodpeckers(especially Pileateds) and Crows. Both of those came calling at key moments this week for me. In neither case did I make a photograph--the moment was auditory more than visual. Over the years I have had the chance to photograph both, and to photograph hawks and Osprey as well. For my new friend, here are some of my favorite Osprey moments.

Osprey mate for life and the male is involved in every aspect of raising baby osprey to adulthood, including helping build or repair the nest, incubating eggs, and feeding the female and baby osprey. 

I've witnessed all of these behaviors over the years.

Fishing at dawn.

The cycle begins again. This pair, in the Colington Harbour marina, has been together for at least the past 18 springs. We always keep close watch in late February/early March for their arrival. They don't spend the winter together in the same place, and have a staggered schedule of return so I am always grateful when both come safely home.

I call this "Chip off the block." This is the papa osprey and one of the offspring. Baby Osprey have orange eyes.