This morning as the bell signaled the end of morning zazen the whistling ducks took up their song, circling the wetland as if inviting me to photograph them.
They quickly grew bored waiting and flew off to a place I do not know, can not imagine.
Perhaps they will return this afternoon, circle in a duck like pose as I capture them with the long lens, and this will satisfy them for another day, but perhaps they will not return and punish me again for my morning absence.
The jetty is replete today with tourists, pale as the sun bleached concrete, stopping to gawk at the fishermen who ignore them intent on watching the sadly still line.
The pelicans sit on the rocks grooming and posing, talking loudly on occasion before spreading wings and flying off. Out on the jetty a pelican waits patiently for the fisherman to pack up for the day, knowing he will dump his bait bucket on the concrete and the pelican will be rewarded for his patience.
He stands still staring at the ever changing surface of the pond, which he knows holds infinite possibility that he does not wish to disturb, lest the moment be forever lost. Nothing else matters to him as he calmly, and ever so slowly, lifts his leg in tree pose, and reaches out with unfurled wings to grasp the breeze of a perfect heron morning.