Despite my well-documented attraction to birds, it’s not birds per se, but, rather, nature in all its magnificent manifestations that holds me in thrall.
Fortunately the awareness needed to find and photograph birds has revealed a whole new world, a world made up of much more than birds. I’ve seen more mammals in less than a year than I did in the thirty plus years I was hiking and backpacking regularly. Perhaps slowing down isn’t all bad, after all.
Friday, trying to capture my first-ever picture of an American Kestrel
that kept flying back and forth from his distant perch to the ground to catch insects, I caught a glimpse of what I suspect is a Long-Tailed Weasel (perhaps because there was picture posted nearby saying to watch for them) swimming down the creek,
emerging occasionally to search through the underbrush for a quick snack.
Strangely, the excitement I felt from getting my first-ever picture of an American Kestrel quickly paled beside the thrill of getting a picture of this rather insignificant mammal.
I sometimes fear that even at my advanced age I share my grandchildren‘s fondness for fuzzy animals, though such a weakness would obviously belie Mike’s perception that I’m ironic and sardonic.