I think the coast is clear. That’s what the Island feels like. Like those of us who have been a bit in hiding are making an appearance. I believe The Island itself sighs with a sense of relief-just all the cars off its back.
And so the scenes shift: I stop looking inward and look outward. September shadows, sultry breezes, chorus of crickets, squalls of swallows dancing over queen anne’s lace
This Green Heron is like us islanders, very secretive. Walking across an old plank, in a brackish marsh, it was spying a frog or two for lunch. I knelt with my camera as the crowd of beachgoers in summer walked by behind us. Just us two sneaky birds….