Libertay, Fraternitay, Eagle-itay

Fall is arriving.

They say that it will be hot next week, but the Lotus Festival ended last night--the weather was beautiful, clear and cool; and overnight we received a long soaking rain that has continued all day.  It is an autumn rain, the kind that when it comes again next month will drive leaves from trees and bring colder weather behind it.

But today it is just needed.  The leaves are already yellowing, sometimes turning brown, but mostly from how dry it has been.  The wildflowers that most people call weeds have been offering their soft pastels to my yard for the last week, but black-eyed susan and other autumn flowers are done.

Yesterday, driving down the street, a flock of over a dozen turkeys crossed my path; and half a dozen young deer came out of the woods, ears pricked, trying to understand this strange invasion.  If I don't hurry it will be too late to remember the eagles of summer.

This year, there are three adult bald eagles on the beach, though it is seldom possible to get more than one in the frame at any one time.  And even harder to keep them in focus.  The one on the right above clearly looks the larger of the two, but I have yet to figure out what that means--is this sexual dimorphism, males larger than females?  Or is it older larger than younger?  Or younger larger than older?  My thoughts ran more or less in that order.

I am not sure, but I believe that the smaller one on the left in the picture above is the same one who perched for a time in the backyard.

His eyes look sunken and his face looks drawn to me.  I associate this with age rather than illness, but who can tell.  The larger eagle looks more like an adult version of the large, healthy immature I photographed in that tree last year.


They are marvelous to watch, and they hold the attention.  Sometimes, I find myself watching them until they are specks disappearing in a high clear sky.  But mostly, I find myself futilely lying in wait for them, only to find that they refuse to show up when they can see me looking for them.


And, of course, when they do show up, they move so quickly while seeming to move so slowly that my photos are almost always just out of frame or out of focus or both.





One will swoop in, pick up a piece of fish and leave me with only a piece of tail.




Or one will drop from a tree to just above the water and skim the long expanse of lake for a mile to grab a fish that he has spotted; and my image is so distant and blurred as to barely get the shape.





Or they will fly right toward me, teasing me with the promise of clarity, but tilting and shifting just enough to baffle the focus of my eye and camera.

And then, occasionally, rarely, I might catch one--even from a great distance--stooping toward the lake.

One day, the last full day in Rabbit Bay, tenacity paid off, and he gave me one clear-eyed image as he left his perch.

More often, I feel lucky if I can get just one good image of a final wave at the far edge of visibility.