One of the best things about taking early morning walks in Clearwater is the birds.
There might be people who travel hundreds, maybe thousands of miles just to catch a glimpse of the birds I take for granted, like the storks that have made themselves at home on my neighbor’s lawn.
Three, four and sometimes five of them sit regally, if inelegantly on her back lawn, backwards knees bent under their tail feathers. Their presence there is mysterious, and I find myself imagining an ancient roosting tree cut down right smack dab where some contractor decided he needed to build a house 30 years ago. Somehow it seems the only plausible explanation.
To me, there is something sweet about a stork’s face. Their naked head seems more pitiful than ugly, their expression resigned rather than predatory.
But then again, I’m not a fish.
It’s hard not to be anthropomorphic observing animals. I grew up in a family where the current cat or dog resident seemed to be more tolerated than we kids were. At least my mom never took a willow switch to the Dalmatian, or sent the tabby cat to her room to ponder the inedibility of a pork and beans dinner. (To this day that dish gives me epicurean shivers.)
For some reason, I wasn’t jealous of what seemed to be preferential treatment. Instead, I fell in love with animals. “Ugly”, savage, weird looking or beautiful, it matters not. Animals are my passion in life. (AFTER my children, husband and grandchildren, of course.)
One of these days I’ll even design a stork pin or pendant for women who belong to those most honorable of professions- midwifery and obstetrics. The local inspiration is certainly there.
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