I’ve been shooting long enough that most sightings don’t stop me in my tracks anymore. The spoonbill is different. Every time I see one, I still have a small involuntary reaction, like my brain needs a second to accept what it’s looking at.
Part of it is the color. Nothing else in these wetlands is that pink. Part of it is the bill — that flat, widened tip looks like it belongs in a different era entirely. When you get one in the frame, perched and still, it feels a little like a gift. The bird has no idea it’s unusual. It’s just standing there.
“In order to see birds, it is necessary to become part of the silence.” — Robert Lynd
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