The American River, Saturday, February 9, late afternoon. Steve’s on his bike, pedaling along, stopping every so often to photograph a phoebe or a nuthatch, mergansers running atop the water. I’m walking alongside. We stop and sit on a bank, watch a pair of mallards preening. Close our eyes. Inhale the scent of damp earth, warmed by winter sun. Sit until the shade hits, spills across the landscape. Head for home and a fresh-crab dinner, a bite of crusty bread. It is heaven.
2 comments:
Renee,
You are doing an excellent job with your blog, I always enjoy reading what you are up to. The photography is nothing short of amazing, what an artist.
Birdman
Birdman,
Yes, that Steve Thompson is quite the photographer, isn't he? And you're quite the clever commenter. (Birdman is Steve, in case no one guessed!)
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