Perhaps this will sound odd, but after church Sunday, my husband and I climbed into the car and drove to the cemetery, which happens to be one of my favorite locations. I wrote about it here once, before readers found Middle Passages–if you want to see more, click on this link. Sunday, we had a specific reason for visiting which I won’t go into, other than to assure you it was not sad, and, I brought the camera.
Climbing up the terraced hills overlooking the harbor, the view from this peaceful spot settles with a soothing comfort. The September sun has tipped low enough on the horizon to mute the earth in yellows and golds as the land quiets itself for winter. As we descended granite steps to the water’s edge, the crunch of our feet on gravel startled a flock of cormorants–their wings clapped the water like applause in their haste to depart.
Turning, we discovered a congregation of snowy egrets perched amid the marsh grass. I had the camera, but no telephoto, so I tiptoed toward them—with each step, a bird, or two, or three, lifted into the air. Soon, a flock of white birds decorated the pine trees on the opposite shore. One lone egret remained, craning his neck toward the water so intent on breakfast, he stood as frozen as the granite statues dotting the terraced hills, shadowing us from behind.