Crouched at Rivers Edge

……..in the brown weeds that were last summers greenery I catch a furtive movement out of the corner of my eye. It is a Mallard hen and her young brood making their way along the shore line towards where I am hunkered down. They wind their way through the Lily pads, an ever expanding and contracting line of tiny feather balls behind Mom. An occasional slacker, or gawker, has to swim double time to catch up with the group and the relative safety in numbers that the group, and Mothers watchful eye, affords.

The only other activity on the surface of the water is the constant movement of the duck weed that peppers the top of the water like freckles on a red head in summer. Then, from time to time, the occasional Lily pad that has slipped the muddy grip of the river bottom joins the slow motion parade past my place of concealment.

With my calves cramped and aching from too long a time groveling on the rip-rap along the causeway I wrap up the mornings shooting. A few notes in hand to jog my middle age memory, some images to share and we even kept our feet dry for a change.