The entrance to our wetlands is only a few doors from our home:
On many mornings for the past two weeks the humidity has been high and the temperature close to the dew point, so we have been greeted by fog, especially thick over the lake.
Too often I strive to depict the birds in side-on "field guide" poses. A feather in disarray or an errant bit of foliage can spoil such images. Fog smooths out these defects and provides a natural filter for photo effects, obliterates the background and focuses attention on the subject and its immediate surroundings.
Composition and action seem more important than the plumage details of this Great Egret:
Images such as these of a Little Blue Heron are soft and lack detail, but I find them especially pleasing to the eye:
A pair of Mottled Ducks are barely identifiable:
Poor light muddles the image of a Belted Kingfisher but makes the setting almost look like an oil painting:
Street lights, still on almost two miles to the north, burn through the fog at sunrise
Just as the fog is lifting, the sun's glare is restrained and shadows are muted. The warm color temperature permits better display of plumage details, especially that of white birds such as the White Ibis and Great Egret:
I did not see these two Red-breasted Mergansers swimming away from me until they were too far away for a decent photo, but I loved the warmth of the sun playing on the grasses of the wet meadow:
A patch of sunlight pierces the fog next to these White Ibises:
Everything is coated with dew as the fog breaks up and droplets fill the air. I don't know what kind of composite flower this may be, but it is very tiny, only about 3/4 inch (2 cm) wide:
The spiders' webs are weighed down by dewdrops:
A necklace of silk and dewdrops:
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As usual, at about a half hour before sunrise, I started out into the local wetlands. Normally Mary Lou would have walked in with me, but she had somehow injured her back and temporarily had difficulty getting around. The sky overhead was clear but unusually dark, due to heavy storms over the ocean about 20 miles to the east.
This was the view from our back patio:
A crescent Moon hung very low in the sky, just rising above the cloud bank ahead of the sun. It was very "old," not to be seen again until three days later. After creating a partial eclipse the next day, it would reappear as the Snow Moon,to once more begin its flight away from the sun, and sink into the opposite horizon.
To my surprise, a sharply-demarcated heavy bank of fog hung over the path ahead. I entered the cloud and was enveloped, almost as if passing through an invisible door. Now it was not only darker but everything more than 20-30 yards away was suddenly invisible, and I felt so alone. For a moment my brain stem transported me back to childhood and I had a wave of the "goblin under the bed" syndrome.
That strange feeling led me to think of how spooky it would be if an owl suddenly started hooting, so I broke out my iPhone bird sound application and began playing the call of an Eastern Screech-Owl. The call kept repeating as I walked along, and the fog began to lift.
About half way into the wetlands I turned off my iPhone and put it back in my pocket.
Moments later, I thought my owl call started playing on its own, but then realized that a real owl was calling back. It was the monotone trill of the Screech-Owl, and it was emanating from a small tree right along the path.
The owl was well-hidden amid the pine needles and I tried to find a good angle for a photo without disturbing the bird. Although this species is not uncommon in established neighborhoods with mature trees, it was the first one (the 166th species) I have encountered in our local birding patch. Its outlines were barely visible in the predawn light:
This was about the best I could do:
Later, the empty perch:
Fast forward two weeks, and the full Snow Moon which lit up the night now sets into the lake just after sunrise:
By day, the sun shone on some brightly colored little birds. These are Northern Parula warblers. One surprised me by posing at eye level for the better part of 2 seconds as I feverishly clicked the shutter:
Now that the wetlands are beginning to dry up we are seeing fewer deer. They do not enjoy having continuously wet feet and surely welcome the seclusion of hammocks in the Everglades. This White-tail watched me intently before scampering back over the fence:
For Valentine's Day I presented Mary Lou with this photo of Lantana flowers wrapped in spider webs, which I posted to her on Facebook, saying, "The spiders worked all night to wrap your bouquet of Lantana blossoms in silk, and placed it right where I could find it this morning. For my lifetime best friend and lover MaryLou, with all my love!" One commentator said: "Men of science are so romantic. I would much rather have something like that than one of those corny, mushy cards they sell."
It's hard to believe that our first date was over 63 years ago, on December 27, 1953. (That one didn't work out, but we did eventually get together and were engaged in 1957!)
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We were out early as usual this week, about 25 minutes before sunrise. Also as usual, I was only halfway into the wetlands when Mary Lou passed by as she headed back out! It was good to see her walking fast and leaving me in her dust! The temperature was a mild 65 degrees F (18 C), the winds calm and the sky was clear.
Wisps of fog persisted on the far shore of the lake:
In the semi-darkness a Little Blue Heron flew in and settled to forage in a shallow area near shore:
At sunup the surface of the lake was like glass, and you may barely see the Great Blue Heron perched on a rock in the distance (click for enlarged view):
Our herons are not accustomed to the human presence. To take advantage of the increasing light, I planned to walk out on the peninsula to the far right of the above photo to get better views. Before leaving this vantage point I zoomed in a bit with my pocket camera (Canon PowerShot SX700 HS):
To my surprise, the heron did not fly off as often occurs when one even steps foot on the peninsula. Cautiously, I snapped a couple of nice reflection images:
The rising sun was shining in from the left and it accented the heron's plumage:
I crept up so close that the heron filled my viewfinder:
While I was photographing the heron, a single Pied-billed Grebe disturbed the surface of the lake:
Suddenly two Egyptian Geese flew low overhead, calling loudly:
On the walk back home, some colorful treats--
A retreating Northern Flicker:
A male Northern Cardinal...
...and his mate:
A couple of poor shots of an uncooperative male Painted Bunting:
An immature Red-shouldered Hawk flew from a utility box and then veered sharply to clear a fence:
Earlier this week, I photographed a female Ruby-throated Hummingbird, the first I have ever been able to attract to our back yard:
Maybe our blooming Red Pentas tempted her to try out our sugar-water feeder:
During my hummingbird photo-shoot a Palm Warbler posed in one of our Mango trees:
Our local Bald Eagles show signs that their first egg may have hatched. The female was sitting high as if "tenting" a newly hatched eaglet, and the male seemed to be in a protective mood as he roosted near the nest, staring at me intently. He usually ignores a photographer viewing from a safe (and legal) distance:
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